Reunion
by MidnightBlast
Summary: After the events of "Inception,", Ariadne reunites with Arthur, forever changing her life. But Eames soon arrives to throw a wrench in the middle of everything. -updated summary-
1. Reunion

Been a long time since I last posted something, and I'm so glad for the time to do it now. This has been swirling in my head since I saw the movie. For now, this is a one-shot, but my husband is talking about seeing it again, so depending, there might be another chapter or so pop up sometime. But for now, please enjoy!

Rated M for sexual content.

I don't own a single person from or thing about "Inception." I just borrow and dabble.

_Summary: After the events of "Inception", Ariadne has trouble returning to her previous life, longing for what she once had, and finds the one person she misses most._

It had been two months since the Fischer job. The team had gone their separate ways from the airport without such much as a word, disappearing into the streets of Los Angeles. She wasn't even stateside for two weeks before finding herself back in Paris.

Graduate school. She couldn't say it was entirely her idea, but it certainly beat getting a real, honest-to-god job. And there really wasn't any better place to be a student than Paris. It was still on a daily basis that she marveled at the beauty of the city.

It was second nature to notice details now. Textures, shapes, tastes, smells. All the details that were taken for granted every single day were suddenly so important as a dream architect. Even if the work hadn't been strictly legal, the habits she developed from her short stint were sticking with her. She never left the house without her totem.

Earlier this week the news of Robert Fischer dissolving his father's energy empire went public. Ariadne had about choked on her coffee and spewed it all over her friends and the newspaper as she read the headline. God what she wouldn't give to have anyone from the team—Cobb, Yusuf, Arthur, even Eames—around to celebrate with. Her friends had been most incessant to know why she was so excited about the headline, and she had a hell of a time coming up with a convincing lie. She still wasn't sure they entirely bought it.

The early fall breeze whipped down the street, blowing the hem of her linen charcoal skirt about her knees as she walked. The industrial neighborhood hadn't changed a bit. Not that she really expected it to in only two months. She rounded the corner, the frame of the familiar warehouse making her smile. It felt like an eternity had passed since she'd last been here.

God how she missed them all. Arthur the most if she was being completely honest. He showed her so much, opened her mind to so many new possibilities in such a short time. She had principally worked with him during the planning phases of inception and had grown used to his clipped, fastidious manner. It was so unlike her, and she found it dreadfully sexy. Maybe that's why she missed him more—he wasn't like the others. And after all, she had kissed him. Never mind she felt like a fool for trusting him at the time, but that slight tease of a memory lingered more than the rest.

She reached the door of the warehouse, a longing smile on her face. She glanced up at the windows, wondering what it was currently being used for. The key she held in her hand suddenly felt heavy as she stepped forward to see if it still fit the lock. She waited on baited breath, her smile returning as the door swung open. The room had the same sparse look as she remembered—a few tables, chairs, lawn furniture.

She couldn't even begin to track the number of hours she'd spent here, pouring over diagrams and models, her brain let loose with creative freedom under Arthur's ever watchful eye. She wandered throughout the room, wondering where they were, what they were up to, if any more heists were planned. She longed to be part of that world again. Real life, grad school, a 9-to-5 job—she hadn't yet figured out how to go back after inception.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the waist-high work table, surprised to not find a thick coat of dust. Could someone still be working here? She quickly glanced around, not seeing any evidence of recent activity—no silver suitcases, no food packaging, no tools strewn about the table. She turned, backing up to the table and hopping up to sit, glancing around with a sigh. If someone from the team was still working here, it would just be too good to be true.

Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat as she heard someone outside fidgeting the lock. The door swung open wide, Arthur's curiously alert face scanning the room. He stopped when his eyes landed on her, her mouth upturned in a slight smile.

"Ariadne?"

"Hi Arthur." She said casually, her voice even despite her excitement at actually seeing him again. He stepped fully into the room, indicative silver suitcase in hand, closing the door behind him. His face relaxed to a look of surprise, a barely noticeable smile across his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. I would have thought you would stay in the states." She wasn't sure why she said that, realizing she was rambling. "I'm, uh, actually here for grad school." An unwanted blush crept to her cheeks, as though she was embarrassed to admit grad school to him. Or was it that she couldn't keep her eyes off him—his three-piece black suit, dark blue shirt, and charcoal-gray-blue tie fit his body in all the right ways she remembered.

"Good for you," he said, reaching the work table, resting the case on the tabletop a few feet from her, "although, if I remember correctly, you don't need it," he accented his words with a little shake of his head, "your skills should easily land you a job."

"But I don't have a way to prove it to anyone. I can't exactly go around putting the work from inception on my resume."

"No," he agreed with a soft chuckle, "no you cannot." She heard the rustling of cloth, and turned to see him shed his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt to just under his elbows. "But why are you here—you still haven't answered the question."

"Homesick I suppose." She flatly answered, much to his surprise.

"It does get to feel that way—the personal nature of the work, the people on the team—it never really leaves you," his eyes fell almost reverently to the silver case, running his fingers along the edges, "there's not really anything quite like it."

"That's why I'm here," she admitted, "I want the feel of those days back. I wanted to remember." He raised his head, eyes sharply locking to hers. They were just as brown and beautiful as he remembered.

"If you came here hoping to live your life in dreams of the past, you'll find yourself sorely disappointed. Your life has more to live for than that."

"That wasn't what I was going for." Her face relaxed into an embarrassed little smile, tearing herself from his eyes before she drowned. "Same question can be asked of you, you know—why are you here? You're not still in the business are you?"

"No," he said, respect on his voice, "Cobb was the best. Working with anyone else would fall far below past experiences. Best to go out on top." He opened the case, revealing the familiar buttons and tubes.

"But you're obviously still working in the realm of dreams, so what do you do?"

"I work for the good guys, if you will," a small forced smile came to his face, "training those like Fischer how to defend themselves if they find their dreams under attack."

"An appropriate job for an ex-point man. What do the others think about you telling everyone their secrets?"

"I haven't heard from the others since Los Angeles."

"Did Cobb make it back to his kids?"

"I like to think so. You were there when he passed customs at the airport. Like you, I haven't seen or heard from him since.

"Seems strange—you two worked together a long time, didn't you?" A look of fondness unlike any she'd seen before softened Arthur's eyes.

"More years than I can remember. It feels like a different lifetime, with dream time moving faster than real-world time. I wish I could say my current work is as fulfilling, but it doesn't come close to measuring up." God he could not keep his eyes from her. He had missed her more than he cared to admit. And even though the space he worked from was a constant reminder of his past life and work, here was living, breathing proof that it was real.

Instinctively, he reached a hand into his pocket, hefting the loaded die in his hand. She noticed his hand move, her eyes returning his.

"Checking your totem?" She asked knowingly, reaching into one of her skirt's pockets, fingering her own totem.

"Yes," he plainly admitted, "it is a pleasant surprise to see you again...," she froze on his words, her heart fluttering, "one that I would not put past dreaming about." She pulled her brass chess piece out of her pocket, flashing it to him.

"You're not dreaming…," she moved the totem back to her pocket, glancing away, hoping she could bring herself to say the words, "those months ago, in the hotel dream level, you asked me to kiss you," she turned back to him, a curiously playful look to her eyes, "why? You knew it wouldn't distract the projections." He reached a hand out to rest on the table, shifting closer to where he could almost rest on his elbow, bringing himself closer to her in the process, watching her eyes intently watch him.

"Simply because I wanted to." The honesty in his handsome eyes was overwhelming, the tone on his voice so smooth. She felt like melting, a dull throb growing between her legs at the simple conviction of a man who knew what he wanted. "And as I recall, you didn't even hesitate." His voice had dropped to a softer tone meant only for her.

"Well I-I thought…," she stumbled over the words, mortified he had her so undone when he was so composed, "I didn't hesitate because I believed you knew what you were doing…and as observant as you are, you have to see how I look at you."

"Mirrors my looks for you I imagine." His breath whispered across her cheek.

"Just kiss me Arthur." Her words barely ended before his lips pressed against hers. Soft, tentative, exploring kisses. She drew in a sharp breath, a hand reaching out to rest on his arm as he gently sucked her lip, edging it with his tongue. Fire spread through her body as his lips devoured hers, seeking entrance with his tongue until she yielded and their tongues met. All at once she needed to feel him, shifting and spreading her legs until he stood in between them, wrapping her arms around his waist to draw him right up against her. His hardened want pressed right where she wanted him most, their kisses increasing in intensity and passion, losing themselves in the feel of the other person.

Her hands traced up and down his lean form, reveling in the feel of his hard body so solidly against her. His lips left hers in a series of short kisses down her jaw, settling on her neck, his hand tracing the curve of her breast, teasing her through her shirt. A moan escaped her, vibrating against his nose, as his hips jerked against hers, desperate for her touch. His hand moved down her torso, skimming over her hips to meet the skin of her leg below her skirt. He started inching up her skirt, tracing the new smooth skin with heated desire. She met his lips again, past the point of no return as his fingertips brushed against her heated sex. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he felt her damp desire through the thin fabric.

Her hands moved around from his back, settling on his belt buckle, wanting so much more. He seamlessly lifted her from the table long enough to pull her underwear free as her fingers worked to free him, breath leaving him as she grazed his bare tight skin. She pulled him flush against her, ready for every inch of him. One fluid push and the breath left them both, slumping against each other at feeling their bodies so connected. He pulled out, pushing back in deeply, slowly.

"Oh god Arthur…" He sealed his lips to hers, continuing slow thrusts, determined to enjoy her as long as he could. Her whimpers for breath increased as his pace picked up, both desperately seeking release only the other could give. She felt herself tightening around him, her mind slipping away as she gripped him harder, tighter. Suddenly his hold on her stiffened, a guttural moan in his throat as release engulfed him. God he was never going to let this woman go.

His eyes drifted open, reveling in her pounding heart against his chest, listening to her breaths evening out. He nuzzled her neck, the smell of her soap filling his nose as he kissed her neck gently, feeling her lips mimic the action. Loosening his hold, he pulled back to meet her eyes, loving the shroud of euphoria in their chocolate depths. She leaned in, kissing him softly, soundly, unable to find words.

"I, uh," he laughed softly to clear his throat, an impish smile revealing dimples she'd never before seen coming to his face, "I guess we did that backwards."

"What do you mean?" She stiffened in his embrace, bracing for his next words.

"Well, I should have taken you to dinner and a movie first, and then back to my place for this." A smile of relief washed over her face as she hugged him tight.

"Next time, point man," she pulled back, resting her nose against his, drowning in his eyes that saw only her, "I'll hold you to it."

_Fin. _

Thanks for stopping by! Stay tuned...?_  
_


	2. Recreation

Thanks to everyone for all the reviews! I really appreciate hearing from y'all.

Well what started out as a one-shot is slowly turning into a series of snapshots about the lives of our favorite point man and architect. (and I don't know about TV stations in France, so I went with what I knew).

Please enjoy!

xxx

She squinted up into the bright sky, lowering her head to take in the sidewalk on which she stood. Most surely a downtown area, light traffic, tall office buildings. A smile grew on her face as she continued to look around. Arthur's dreams were becoming easy to recognize—the simplistic elegance of every detail gave him away.

"Whoa." The word left her in a low whistle as her eyes settled on the two cars parked directly in front of her. A silver Acura TSX and black BMW M6 sat glistening in the sunlight, both sexy, refined and relatively unassuming. Much like the man behind it all.

She turned over her shoulder, watching the subject of her thoughts exit the office building directly behind her, a mischievous smirk on his face. Instead of the usual three-piece suit, he had a charcoal sweater on over a white button down shirt, red tie loosened at the neck, top button unbuttoned, sleeves rolled one cuff width up.

"I hope I get the BMW." The smirk on his face widened at her comment.

"Only in your dreams." He came to a stop beside her.

"So what's today's lesson then?"

"How are your hot wiring skills?" She turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"Don't know. Never tried."

"Hm, perhaps next time," he reached in his pants pocket, tossing her a key, "I feel like driving today." He brought the other key out from his pocket, pushing a button, the BMW roaring to life.

"So what…you're gonna chase me?"

"Learn how to lose a tail, drive under pressure. Handy skills even in the real world. Benefit to learning here is when you crash, you'll wake up."

"When I crash?"

"Everyone crashes in the beginning."

"Some positive mentor you are." He smiled an innocent little smile before moving for the driver's door. "You seriously expect me to compete with that?" She motioned between the cars.

"You won't get to choose what vehicle your opponents drive. You might have some say over the car you're driving if you're in a vehicle you planned for. If you're on the street and suddenly need a car, you drive whatever the subject's subconscious has placed before you. I tried to be nice."

She glanced back at the silver car, guessing it really wasn't that bad. She might have a chance. She walked to the driver's door, glancing back in time to catch Arthur, now wearing a pair of shades that brought out the sexy angles of his face, slide into the M6. She shook her head unable to believe it—even in dreams, the man had impeccable taste and was sexy as hell. She turned back, resigning herself and dropping into the driver's seat.

"Crap," she laughed out loud to herself, closing the door, "he's gonna kick my ass."

"Now what kind of attitude is that?" She froze, a disbelieving smile coming to her face as she slowly shook her head.

"If you were a real tail, we wouldn't be talking to each other." She wasn't sure where the microphone was or if he could even hear her.

"More fun this way, and I can't really give you pointers if we're not in contact." She reached for the seat-belt, turning the key in the ignition.

"You're getting some kind sick thrill from this aren't you? You sound way too happy. " She gripped the steering wheel, shifting out of park, glancing in the rear view mirror to meet his sunglasses-shielded eyes. "So do I get a head start or something?"

"Maybe I'll give you a minute. More often than not, tails are sloppy and give themselves away, so they'll be right on top of you the minute you leave the curb. Good luck love."

"Good luck yourself." She pulled out from the curb, finding a break in traffic and gunning it to the nearest intersection. An approving smile came to her face as the car accelerated down the road, zipping over into another lane of traffic, gliding to a stop.

"Not bad." She whispered to herself.

"Enjoying yourself?" She glared upwards.

"Stay out until you're needed."

"So you admit you need me?"

"I admit nothing." She turned off on another road, zooming down an alley before right turning, merging in traffic. She wasn't sure exactly where she was going. She wasn't familiar with this cityscape, but she knew he damn well was. Suddenly she remembered to check the rearview mirror—he was supposed to be following her after all. There he was, two cars back. Damn, how did he get so close to her? He was still parked at the cub when she rounded her first corner. The light ahead was red with a green left arrow and she currently was stopped.

Biting her lip, she jerked the wheel to the left turn lane, flooring the gas pedal, gliding through the intersection.

"Bad move." She heard the squeal of tires and the roar of an engine, looking in the mirror in time to see the black car fly around the corner, gaining rapidly even as she accelerated down the nearly empty street, zipping through other cars. "You exposed yourself, leaving an open path behind for your purser to follow you." She barely registered his words. "You make a move like that only when your purser can't follow you." An intersection with a green light and green arrow steadily approached. She could only hope the car wouldn't flip.

She cranked the wheel, slamming on the brakes, back end sliding into the intersection as she pulled a hard, fast u-turn. Anything that might shake him up was better than nothing. She punched the pedal to the floor, back wheels spinning for a fraction of a second as she flew down the same street in the opposite direction.

"Clever." She watched him pull the same turn quicker, easier. "Tall enough median that I couldn't cross lanes to stop you. Forces me to slow down, lets you get ahead of me." He watched her turn right on a side-street. Smirking to himself, he cranked the wheel, the car turning on a dime, accelerating like a knife through hot butter.

She checked the mirror again, surprised to not see the black car. Surely she hadn't lost him, had she? She slowed at an intersection surrounded by tall buildings, straining to see on either side. Suddenly she slammed on the brakes, a startled gasp leaving her. There he was, idling on her right hand side of the intersection. She could almost make out the look on his face.

"Hey Babe." The look of shock was plain on her face."Stopping is the last thing you want to do when I'm this close."

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"You gave me a window to use what I might know of the street layout when I saw you turn so far in front of me. I knew a shortcut and beat you to the same point."

"Your car is faster than mine."

"Not by much." She fixed her eyes on the rear-view mirror, glancing down to the emergency brake. He watched her reach for the gearshift, reverse lights illuminating. "You're not going to try driving in reverse, are you?"

"No, I'm going to attempt one of those reverse turns you always see in action movies." She started rolling. "I'm sure you know how to do one."

"I do. Simple principals, but difficult to master with finesse." He inched the car forward, turning on the street she was currently backing down. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the emergency brake, her other hand cranking the steering wheel with all her might. The tires screeched, the chassis went rigid, her head slamming against the headrest.

Arthur watched the silver car turn on its rear wheels, leaving a faint cloud of smoke and tire skids behind. She shook her head, trying to catch her breath as she floored it, again sinking back in the seat under the force of acceleration.

"Not bad for a beginner. Still needs some work though—it would have been all too easy for me to catch you."

"I did notice you just sat there."

"Well this is for you to learn." He followed her, right on her tail, as she darted around corners.

She glanced back in the mirror just in time to watch him move forward, pulling along her right side.

"Now what?" She asked, chancing a second's glance over at him. He simply smiled. "Arthu—." His name died in her throat as her car jerked violently to the left, and she struggled to recover. Again he turned his car into hers, watching as she fought to keep the steering wheel in her control.

"You've got to fight back if you expect to escape." He eased the side of his car into hers again, jolting it, a tiny yelp of surprise sounding over his speaker. She wasn't even thinking, she just acted, ignoring all instincts as she turned the Acura into the BMW, the car shaking around her at the impact.

"Harder." She turned the wheel more, the two cars scraping together. "Pull back and hit harder…turning into me more at this point won't help you." Numbly she listened to him, too high on adrenaline to think for herself. She pulled back, giving them some space, cranking a hard right to slam into his black car. She caught the jerk of his elbows as he fought to straighten the car, a surprised smile coming to her face.

"Better." He had barely finished speaking when suddenly he rammed the full force of his car against hers, pushing her off the road and onto the sidewalk as she fought to regain control of the steering wheel. Her eyes widened to find the car riding less than an inch from the building, still moving forward, pinned between Arthur's car. She stomped harder on the gas pedal, hoping to outrun him, fighting to keep the car from crashing into the building wall. He matched her every step of the way, her heart pounding as the building wall end grew near.

One final tap from Arthur's car as she careened through the intersection, and the last thing she knew was the approaching brick wall of the building on the next corner, the sound of shattering glass, the crushing weight of the car collapsing around her.

X

Gasping for breath, her eyes bolted open as she flew up off the leather couch. She scrambled to yank the IV out of her arm, struggling to find her breath.

Arthur's eyes opened, immediately removing the IV and moving over to the couch, hating how shaken she looked.

"Damn you Arthur." She ground out, still fighting to calm down.

"You did well, and you didn't panic. Most people aren't that strong." He watched her arm shake as she raised it to her head. He scooted back on the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, kissing her forehead. He relaxed into her as her head rolled to rest on his shoulder.

"But I did…there at the end. I wouldn't have smashed into a building otherwise."

"Unavoidable. Everyone crashes in the beginning." Her eyes sank closed, an annoyed smile coming to her face as she recalled his earlier words.

"I remember you saying that…I was determined to prove you wrong."

"That's why we don't learn in the real world. No one gets hurt." She sighed deeply against him, loving the faint sound of his heartbeat.

"How do you do it?" She asked quietly.

"Do what?"

"The dying. I still can't get used to it."

"That comes with experience. The more you die, the more desensitized you become to it. After a while, it doesn't mean anything."

"After a while…how long did it take you?'

"I lost count somewhere after fifty, and that was three years ago." She shut her eyes turning more into his body, so lean, so warm.

"But that's dangerous—becoming desensitized to dying. There's nothing to prevent it from carrying over in the real world." She considered mentioning Cobb's wife, but thought better of it.

"It's a difficult distinction. Makes the totem that much more important." His mind drifted to the weight of the die in his pocket—an ever comforting source. She sighed against him, attempting to snuggle tighter in his embrace, his lips again drifting across her forehead.

"What was the worst death?" She asked at length. He didn't even have to think.

"Burning alive. A slow, excruciating process."

"How did that happen?"

"I didn't make it out of a building in time," his voice had dropped to a distant tone, lost in memories he'd as soon forget, "it was one of the first jobs I did with Cobb. We got what we needed, but couldn't get out before the mark's projections burned down the building with us inside."

"And that didn't stop you?"

"Not in the slightest. Just another learning experience." He shifted on the couch to lie back against the cushions, bringing her with him to rest together in the stillness of his apartment.

"A learning experience…." Her mind drifted back to what she remembered of their dream car chase, settling against his chest. "How did you get out of the dream so quickly?"

"Followed you into the building wall once you crashed."

"You're pretty lethal, you know—whether with your hands, a gun, car."

"Often times part of the job."

"Did Cobb teach you?"

"No, I took initiative on my own. Only so many times you can stand to get your ass kicked or jeopardize a job."

"So you purposely trained to kill people?"

"Projections of people, for self defense."

"So you could kill in the real world?"

"For self defense? The basic principals would be the same up to the point of knowing that it's not some figure of the subconscious but a person with a soul who won't just wake back up."

"'Person with a soul?'" She repeated his words, a faint smile coming to her face, her fingers lazily tracing circles on his torso. "Didn't have you figured for a religious type."

"Call it a leftover from my childhood."

"Tell me more." She could lay against him forever.

"And bore you to death? No thank you." She felt him shift, reaching out for the TV remote that lay idly on the coffee table.

"Do we have any plans for tonight?" She asked, watching as the TV sparked to life. She knew he had done it for her.

"Not if you don't want us to."

"I don't. I 'd rather stay here with you all night." She felt him laugh soft in his chest.

"I'd like nothing better myself." He stared at the TV curiously, brows furrowing. "Why is the TV on ABC Family?" It had to be her doing.

"Harry Potter was on this morning." She bit her lip, embarrassed, laughing slightly, realizing how being around him made her feel like such a child sometimes. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. It's endearing." He brought his arm down to wrap around her back, holding her tight against him. This was how life should always be.

"Don't change the channel—I love _Back to the Future._"

"Really?" His eyes left the channel guide, focusing on the movie. "I didn't even know these were still played."

"You have seen them, right?" She craned her neck to look up at him, melting at the almost cute, confused, amused look on his face.

"Not since I was a kid." She lowered her head, snuggling back into his soft sweater, breathing deep the faint scent of his cologne.

"Now I know what we're doing tonight." His eyes closed in mild annoyance. He hadn't planned to spend his evening as a couch potato.

"Only if it means having you close Ariadne." She raised her head, pulling herself up his torso, letting her lips fall against his. The movie soundtrack faded under a series of lingering, solid kisses, a fire sparking to life. It wouldn't take much to lose herself in him. He pulled back, meeting her eyes, contentment in their depths.

"What? You're not going to try and distract me?" She asked coyly, nibbling his chin.

"Maybe later," he turned from her to the tv, "I'd rather watch…I don't remember much of what happens."

Six hours, four cocktails and one pizza later, he tried and succeeded.

xxx

Thanks for stopping by! Be on the lookout for more (hopefully soon)...


	3. Reminiscing

Thanks for all your support lovely readers! It's always encouraging and makes me smile to see the alert, favorite and review emails. Thank you!

This is just rocking and rolling right along. Hope you enjoy!

xxx_  
_

Chapter 3: Reminiscing

"How can you stand to wear a suit almost every day?" She licked the last little bit of her crème glacée de framboise off her spoon before going for another spoonful.

"If made and fitted right, they're not uncomfortable." He watched her eyes float up and down his torso. He knew his clothes fit him impeccably and loved that she always noticed.

"Well, all I know is heels just might be the death of me. I'm still tripping on them in elevator lobbies." She shook her head in disbelief, recalling the earlier incident.

"The epitome of grace." She caught the hint of a playful smirk across his face.

"Careful, point man, you just might eat those words later." He loved it when she called him point man. All he got at work these days was Mr. Darren, the occasional Arthur. And never darling—Eames had all but ruined that one.

"But tonight's the opening." He said, reaching for his coffee.

"I didn't say tonight."

"But I know what you meant." Their eyes locked over the coffee and ice cream before them, shared amusement in their depths. Seemed like she was always threatening his comeuppance, but never delivered.

"How's the coffee?" She asked in between spoonfuls.

"Passable." She smirked into her ice cream, expecting a similar response, knowing he was probably dying a little on the inside. He had tried for Café de la Paix or Café Marly, almost anything that wasn't this small little street side café, but Ariadne had insisted. And she loved him evermore for humoring her.

Arthur had slowly been slowing Ariadne a whole new side to Paris. One she knew existed, but could never previously afford. If anything, it showed people will pay for stolen secrets of the mind. She marveled, and was slightly jealous that he wasn't even thirty but his work as a point man had him set for life. And yet he continued to work, though from what she saw at a reduced pay.

It had taken the better part of four months after their reunion to convince him grad school was a waste and she should assist him with his new endeavor. His immediate reaction has been no, but being the logical, plan-minded man he was, eventually saw the benefit and agreed. The worst part of it was dressing up everyday—no more favorite scarves, no more comfortable shoes. She did have to admit she looked good, but it was taking some getting used to.

She watched Arthur take a drink of his coffee, his nose subtly wrinkling.

"It's really not that bad." She said.

"Next time I get to choose our after meeting coffee spot." She shook her head lightly, taking another bite of her ice cream. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, the clink of metal hitting concrete reaching her ears. She quickly bent over, retrieving her fallen totem.

"You should really consider carrying something smaller, love." He watched her return, rolling the chess piece in her hand.

"I know I should. Women's dress pants just don't have any pockets." She wasn't sure if she could change from the brass piece though. She had grown strangely attached to such a mundane object. She figured it was probably the same for Arthur and his die. "How did you come to choose the loaded die? It's not what I would have figured for you."

"I wouldn't have you figured for a chess piece."

"You're really good at dodging questions, you know."

"Years of practice. But the loaded die is from college. There was a small group of us who spent summers in Vegas, counting cards, switching dice. I was a counter. My roommate, James Ritter, was a switcher— don't ask me how he did it because I don't know. The loaded die I carry was said to be his lucky die. The day he was caught and arrested, it was sitting on the hotel bedside table. I grabbed it when I left."

"Why'd you leave?" A distant look drifted across his face.

"Same with after the Fischer job—the best man in the business was gone. It just wasn't the same. The switchers stopped immediately. The counters trickled out over the following weeks."

"So you counted cards?"

"You doubt it?"

"No. From what I understand, it's detailed work—have to keep track of so many numbers and surrounding elements all at once. Like one giant puzzle. Sounds very much like you. Can you still do it?" A small, almost embarrassed smile came to his face.

"Probably not without being noticed." She shook her head, smiling in slight disbelief.

"My consummate thief. Have you ever held a legitimate job before now?" He looked skyward, pensive.

"Assisted the groundskeeper for a summer when I was eleven." He loved the little laugh that left her.

"Now that I would love to see."

"Thank god you never will."

"I'm sure your mother has pictures."

"Let's hope it never comes to that."

"So do you believe the die is lucky?" Something of an ashamed smile came to his face.

"I never said that."

"But you made it your totem…speaks to some belief on your part."

"It simply happened to be convenient in providing a firm tie to the real world."

"Do you miss it much? Counting? Working with numbers?"

"No. I find numbers can only go so far, provide a finite number of puzzles. But when it come to people, there's always something else to learn—some secret, some riddle, some fact—human minds are an endless puzzle in of themselves, and to construct a puzzle within that framework is more rewarding than numbers on their own." God she could almost just listen to him talk.

"Sounds like I picked the right career path then." She finished the last bite of ice cream, savoring the flavor. She dropped the spoon in the bowl with an unceremonious clink.

"Your turn." He said, an expectant look on his face.

"My turn?"

"Why the chess piece?"

"Oh, it's not as good a story as yours. I would play with my grandfather. I kept his chess set when he died. It was the one thing I actually wanted to bring from home when I came to school over here." She shrugged casually, not sure what else to say about it. "So what time's the opening tonight?" She quickly said, cutting off his attempt to speak. He sighed softly, a resigned smile on his face.

"Cocktail reception at 5:30, grand hall opening at 6:30."

"The artwork of Jean-Léon Gérôme , at the Musee d'Orsay." She recited aloud, making sure she had it right. She knew Arthur would correct her if she misspoke. "Well known as one of the great image creators of the nineteenth century, and this exhibit covers the range of his work from his theatrical takes on history to his interest in the Classical model." She glanced over at Arthur, inwardly smiling at the near impressed look on his face.

"You read the notes I left you?"

"I am getting better." He laughed slightly. "You should consider yourself lucky—I could be like Eames."

"You are nothing like Eames. If I never have to work with that man again, the better."

"Oh you can't really hate him that much."

"I don't hate him, I disdain him." She crossed her arms, looking pointedly at him.

"You're splitting hairs."

"So maybe I am." Her eyes softened as they locked to his, amusement in their brown depths. "We got a new job offer today."

"Another one? Who is it this time?"

"Areva, some top engineering brass." He watched her choke on her coffee, nearly spewing it all over the table. "It's not that exciting." He handed her a glass of water.

"I know but…Areva? Nuclear energy secrets? Holy crap, someone somewhere must have thought we did a good job."

"Must have. I appreciate the recommendation." She nodded, still wide eyed. "Well if you're ready love, we should probably get back. We only have a few hours before the opening." She grabbed her bag from beside her chair, determined to pester him with more questions, rising to meet him with a quick kiss, his hand falling to the small of her back as they left to find the garcon.

xxx

God the opening had been exhausting. She had never felt more like a fish out of water. Arthur, however, was right at home. The food, the art, the light dancing, the people. He had moved effortlessly through the crowd without making a scene, all while avoiding the client. She had no clue how he did it. The client had hired them to prove why he needed to know how to defend his dreams. They told him extractors would research him, get to know his schedule, infiltrate his trusted advisers. The client had just laughed. So Arthur and Ariadne set out to prove him wrong.

She rolled around in the sheets, almost gleeful to spring their dream-trap on said client and prove to him just how crafty extractors can be. And she should know, she had worked with the best, and Arthur knew all the tricks without the distracting pizazz. The running faucet in the bathroom suddenly jarred her from her thoughts. She figured he was taking out his contacts. It was always the last step before bed.

It had even been a surprise for her the first time she saw his glasses. Simple wire, square frames. She thought he looked really good in them and should wear them more often. He had simply stared back. She snuggled against the pillow, anxious for him to come to bed. She only hoped she could bring herself to say the words once he got there.

His bed was an elegant mix of luxurious cream and seductive black, all high thread count. It fit him so perfectly. She almost felt out of place but he never failed to make her feel welcome. The bathroom door opened, revealing his undershirt and boxer short clad figure, complete with glasses. She smiled, watching him approach the bed.

"About time." She called up lazily.

"Patience is a virtue." He sat on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs up, turning off the light. The bedroom plunged into darkness, lit only by the faint light from outside the tall windows, illuminating the room just enough to make out the angles of the other's face. "You looked amazing tonight, love."

"Me?" She watched him shift under the covers, his head falling back against the pillow. "What about you? You looked the part, acted the part."

"And avoided the client. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day." She sighed, her eyes falling closed. Leave it to him to bring up work as she was trying to shut her mind down for sleep. She did not need to be thinking about recreating the museum as a maze if she was trying to fall asleep. She shifted her head off the pillow, over to rest against his shoulder. He never slept without a shirt—something about it drying out his skin—and she snuggled against the soft cotton fabric, sighing deep, breathing in the scent that was all him.

"Arthur," she asked, sudden nervousness taking her over, "where are you from?"

"Why ask now?" He rolled his head on the pillow, attempting to look at her. She sighed, biting her lip, rolling her head to still rest against his shoulder but looking at the ceiling.

"I got a call from my parents tonight…they're coming from Ohio to Paris in two weeks." She swallowed hard. "They want to meet you."

"You've told them about me?" The surprised curiosity on his voice did not go amiss.

"Well yeah…," she admitted, unsure if this was the conversation she wanted to broach tonight, but knew it would come up eventually, "we've been together for little over a year. You're the first man I have ever said 'I love you' to. I like to think this relationship between us means something important." She waited for his response, inwardly panicking at the silence. She turned her head, meeting his eyes, noticing his head turned on the pillow, watching her with a small content smile.

"I didn't know that." He said softly.

"Know what?" Her voice was small, nervous.

"Didn't know I'm the first to hear 'I love you' from you." She couldn't help the embarrassed smile that came to her face.

"Don't let it go to your head." He rolled his head over, closer to her, meeting her lips in a quick kiss.

"Meeting your parents won't frighten me away." She relaxed against him, rolling her body over to drape half of herself across him. His arm wrapped around her back, hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Maine." He said at length. "I grew up in Maine. House was on Grindstone Boulevard."

"Maine?" She almost couldn't believe it. "Humble beginnings?"

"I wouldn't call it that—the house was easily worth a million. The family had money in pharmaceuticals. Exclusive neighborhood, exclusive school, yacht club."

"But the east coast? I would never have guessed that—you don't sound anything like it."

"Don't think that wasn't a hard thing to change."

"Can you still talk with the accent?" She raised her head from his shoulder, curiosity in her eyes.

"No. I don't let myself."

"Always so disciplined." She shook her head with a tsk-tsk, settling back against him. "Does it resurface when you go home?"

"I don't know. It's been nine years since I was last there."

"Do you still keep in touch with your parents?"

"Call my mother a couple times a year."

"Only child?"

"Yes."

"Well…are you sure you're ok with meeting my parents? It doesn't sound like you're on the best of terms with yours."

"I have no problems with family life in general and look forward meeting your parents. My family situation is unique at best." She decided not to ask if she would ever get to meet his parents. Again she raised her head, a smirk coming to her face.

"I need to ask you personal questions at bed time more often—you're not usually so forthcoming." He smiled lazily, rolling his head to meet her eyes.

"Don't press your luck." She shifted to lay on her stomach, her body still half atop his, raising herself up on her hands, lips descending with kisses and light nibbles to attack his neck and face.

"But what's your mother's name? Childhood pet?" Relentlessly she toyed with him, feeling his hands come to wrap around her arms, attempting to roll her off of him and wrestle her to her back. "Favorite Halloween costume? Age when you got glasses?" She loved the smile on his face as he pushed her on her back, pinning her with his body.

"Eleanor. Alaskan Malamute. Pirate. 14." His thumb lazily stroked circles against her wrist as he pinned her hands to the mattress. A smile grew on her face as she looked up at him. She never wanted to leave this man.

"You didn't have to answer me, you know."

"I know, but now you owe me." His lips covered hers, loving her eager response. She opened her mouth into the kiss, his tongue plundering hers as she fought back for dominance. Her arms pressed up against his hands, attempting to free them. He smirked through the kiss, holding her hands firmly against the mattress.

If only she were stronger, what she wouldn't give to wipe that smirk from his face. She kissed him harder, raising her head off the pillow, forcing him slightly back. She wrapped a leg around his backside, arching her body into his, loving the near silent moan in his throat. Pushing with her body weight, she pressed against him, feeling his smirk widen, sucking her bottom lip as he let her roll her body atop his, settling back against the mattress. He slid his hands from their captive grasp to briefly intertwine with her fingers, loving the feel of her atop him, returning to deep kisses. She moaned through the kiss, rubbing lightly against his hard length solid between her legs.

"It would seem I have you right where we want you." She nibbled his lip, emphasizing her words with a sharp thrust of her hips, watching his eyes briefly roll back in his head. Her fingers drifted down his torso, inching the bottom of his shirt up as he raised his shoulders off the bed, allowing her to pull the shirt free. She could never tire of tracing the muscles down his chest, loving the teasing feel of his fingers through her thin camisole in return. She kissed him hungrily, desperate to feel him sans clothes beneath her. His fingers tugged anxiously at her shorts and underwear, and she rose off him only so they could both discard their offending clothing.

He groaned against her lips feeling her so warm and inviting against his hard skin. He gripped her hips, shifting her slightly atop him so the slightest movement would connect their bodies. She pushed him into her, slowly, only halfway before pulling back, a wicked grin on her face.

"Play nice." He ground out, nipping her lip before thrusting up hard and fast, filling her to the core. She melted against him, burying her face in his neck as he moved again within his range of motion. She fought to regain her senses, wanting to lose herself in feeling him, slowly taking over for him to move them towards what they both wanted. His hand worked its way between their bodies, settling to circle and toy with her already tingling skin. She gasped against him, new waves of sensation washing over her as she continued to move. Involuntarily her movements sped up, her breath raging, heart pounding as her body moved towards something she'd never known. Suddenly she slowed, slumping against him.

"Hold on…I think my chest is going to explode." The words left her on a rushed breath as she fought to find her breath, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead.

"Too hard?" He asked against her neck, kissing her slick salty skin that matched his own.

"No, god no…I just…," she felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment despite their current situation, "I've just never come with a man inside me before." She felt his lips settle against her ear, breath hot and quick.

"Sounds like a challenge." She turned her head at the tone in his voice, meeting his lips, feeling his fingers continue their mind numbing ministrations as she started moving along his length. Slowly the tension remounted, his touch driving her closer and closer to the edge. He fought for self control, to not give in to her until she crested, to focus on her movements, her short breathy moans. Her motions increased, matched by the rhythm of his hand, her breath in ragged gasps. A final gasp and she thrust down hard, her body contracting around him, shaking against him as wave after wave rolled over her. Still lost in feeling, he rolled her over, lips devouring her neck as he moved towards his own release, desperate to join her. She continued to come undone beneath him, his name breathlessly on her lips as release found him and he collapsed atop her in exhausted euphoria.

She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him, reveling in such pleasure as they lay together, slowly coming back to reality.

"God….," she breathed at length, running a hand through his hair, kissing his damp brow, "so that's what I've been missing." She felt him laugh near silently against her, lips kissing her neck.

"Blow your mind?"

"I think I still owe you." He laughed, loving the feel of her fingers running through his mussed hair. He raised his head, sharing a soft, gentle kiss. He rolled off her, pulling her body against his, reaching down to pull up the forgotten bed sheet, holding her close.

"But I've never seen you sleep without a shirt." She yawned, settling into the pillow, feeling him equally relax, nuzzling her neck.

"You're worth it."

xxx

Thanks for reading! Stayed tuned for the parents and a later arrival of a character we all know and love…


	4. Relative

Thanks for the continued support—it encourages me to keep going! Firstly, I want to apologize for the delay—family holiday weekend craziness descended. But things have settled down now, and to make up for the delay, I have two chapters ready to go.

This chapter was slightly difficult to write and figure out the more heartfelt/emotional side to these characters, so I hope you enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 4: Relative

"How late do you think she'll be Adam? Should we go in and get a table?" Agatha Willems crossed her arms, standing uncertainly in the hotel lobby. Her husband Adam continued looking around, seemingly unconcerned. "I think we should go get a table."

"Ag dear, she'll be along any minute now. Who knows, maybe this Arthur has helped her with her tardiness."

"Are you watching for them?" Adam quickly turned to face the expansive glass door front, eyes scanning the cars and people outside.

"Were they going to be driving?"

"Aria didn't say. Why do you ask?"

"Because I think I see her…and him." Ag turned, falling silent as she looked out the window.

The young man was tall, with not a hair out of place, dressed in a slim black mid-thigh wool coat, black slacks extending as far as the cars would let them see. Their daughter was walking around the car to join him as he talked to the valet. Ag's mouth slightly fell open at seeing her daughter in a gray wool skirt that slightly flared at her knees, a green-teal-gold scarf extending from the top of a black coat equally as sleek as the young man's at her side. Adam's eyes were fixed on the car—it was only in his nature as a car buff—but the black Audi A5 was just too beautiful to let go.

"Oh Adam," Ag's breath left her in a rush, hand coming to her chest, "that doesn't even look like Ariadne. I've never known her to willingly wear a skirt."

"Well it has been a year and a half since we've last seen her. Perhaps the working world has changed her."

"I'll say…just look at the man she's with." Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this.

"Certainly looks like a well moneyed one." Adam commented, watching the couple enter through the revolving door, him going first to push the door for her.

"Oh what is she doing?" Ag's words rushed out on a breath before her face lit up in a big smile. "Aria!" Ariadne tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear out of nervousness, offering her mother a wave as they approached.

"Hi Mom." She returned her mother's hug.

"Is that all you've got after a year and a half? 'Hi Mom?'" Ag looked to Adam with a laugh. "Oh it's good to see you, sweetie."

"Hey there Aria." Adam moved in with a hug.

"Hi Daddy. Welcome to Paris." Her smile filled out, turning to Arthur. "Mom, Dad, this is Arthur Darren. Arthur, these are my parents—Adam and Agatha Willems."

"Pleasure to meet you Arthur." Ag reached a hand out.

" Lovely to meet you." He took her hand, offering a small, though warm smile. Ariadne watched the similar exchange between him and her father, relaxing slightly. So far, so good. This might just go well after all.

"Well let's go in and get a table. Looks like it's starting to get busy." Ag started moving for the restaurant front, Adam following.

"They're not that frightening. I wish you'd relax." Arthur whispered as they followed.

"You don't know them yet." She moved her hand to his, feeling him hold it tight.

"I'm not scared." He quickly raised her hand to his lips, placing a stolen kiss on the back of her hand before following her parents as they threaded through the restaurant to a table.

"Well Arthur," Adam said, once seated and menus distributed, "I couldn't help but notice your car out there."

"The A5? I certainly enjoy it. Do you have an interest in cars?" Adam smiled at the question, failing to hide a gleam of pride.

"Maybe nothing great, but certainly—"

"Oh don't listen to him, Arthur," Ag cut in, "he's a member of more car clubs than I can count. Goes to car shows every chance he gets. Not that he actually owns anything fancy, but he loves to drool."

"Architecture must be the right field to be in, what with driving a car like that." Adam surmised, idly scanning the menu. Arthur turned to Ariadne with a mildly surprised look. That was something she didn't tell him.

"I find it highly rewarding." He said, turning back to Adam, watching as he nodded in approval.

"And you two work at the same firm?" Ag said, folding her menu, her food selection apparently made.

"Yeah, we're not on the same project, but met through friends." Ariadne said, looking up from her menu, glancing between Arthur and her mom.

"Well that's sweet. Are you still enjoying the work Aria?" Arthur almost grimaced every time they called her Aria. He was sure Ariadne hated it, especially when accompanied by her mother's pretentious tone.

"I really am. It's great to create and help make the world a more aesthetically pleasing place." The waiter returned, taking orders and whisking menus away.

"So Arthur,"' Ag continued, "how long have you worked at the firm?"

"I've been there since graduating college. It's a good place to start out—Ariadne did well." Ag tried to hide the disappointment in her smile—she was dying to know how old he was. He just looked too old for her daughter.

"She always has done well. We're pretty proud of our little Aria." Adam fixed his beaming smile on Ariadne, who felt her cheeks instantly flame.

"Thanks Dad." She smiled, tucking the stray strand of hair behind her ear again."How are things back home?" She hoped this would steer the conversation away from them.

"Splendid, splendid. The rest of the family misses you. We told them you'd return to the states after graduation, but you have since made liars out of us." Adam and Ag shared a little laugh, Arthur and Ariadne joining in slowly. "Your brother says hi."

"Does Ariadne have just the one brother?" Arthur asked conversationally.

"Just the one. Two years younger than her," Ag said fondly, "he didn't like it much when his big sister went off to school in Paris."

"He and I weren't that close Mom."

"Well he still misses you. He realized how old and boring we are without his big sister around to entertain him." Adam and Ag shared a laugh, Adriane nodding her head, not wanting to bring up unpleasant stories. She hoped Arthur wouldn't ask her about it later. She noticed him reach to his pocket, retrieving his cell phone.

"Excuse me please," he looked up with an apologetic, serious look, "I'm afraid I need to take this." He placed a gentle hand on Ariadne's shoulder as he rose, her parents reassuring him. She watched him walk away as the waiter approached, setting salads before them.

"Are you sleeping with him Aria?" Ag didn't waste a minute. Ariadne sighed, her eyes closing in annoyance.

"Yes Mom."

"But he must be at least ten years older than you."

"He's only six Mom."

"Do you love him?" Adam asked, taking a bite of salad.

"I love him very much." A small smile returned to Ariadne's face on her words.

"I can tell," he said, something of a sad resignation in his voice, "I knew this day would come when I'd lose my little girl—your eyes just light up when you look at him."

"Oh Adam, she's only confusing lust for love," Ag cut in, "he is, after all, her first boyfriend—"

"Arthur's not my first Mom." Ag looked up with wide eyes.

"Well he's the first one we've ever met—"

"He's the first one worth meeting." A silence hung over the table as mom and daughter locked eyes.

"Well just be careful Aria. Rich men tend to use and abuse women because they know they always have enough money to get another one." Ariadne grit her teeth, resisting the urge to walk away.

"He's not like that." She ground out, her voice threatening to break. A hand fell softly on her shoulder signaling his return and she turned from her mother back to her salad, hoping her cheeks weren't flushed for him to notice.

"I apologize," Arthur said, taking his seat, a small smile on his face, "unavoidable business."

"Quite alright Arthur," Adam said warmly, offering the young man a smile, hoping to distract him long enough for the smile to return to Ariadne's face. "I'm a manager myself, and know the nature of the job."

"And what do you do?" Adam talked on and on about the family business over the rest of their salads, Arthur stealing concerned glances over to Ariadne who had been silent since his return.

For Arthur, the meal couldn't end fast enough. He was dying to get Ariadne alone and find out what had upset her. It had taken every ounce of his civility to continue engaging her parents in idle conversation as they prattled on, seemingly oblivious to their daughter's change in mood as she occasionally and unenthusiastically contributed to the conversation.

"Well we're off to Marseille for a few days, then over to Italy. But we'll be back in Paris before returning to the states. We simply must get together again." Ag cooed as they stood on the sidewalk, taxi waiting.

"Have fun Mom. We'll be in touch." Ariadne shared an awkward hug with Ag, a weak smile on her face.

"And lovely meeting you Arthur. I look forward to seeing you again." Ag moved forward to give him a hug.

"Cheer up Aria," her father's voice distracted her from her mother as he moved in for a hug, "you know your mother didn't mean it."

"Right Dad. See you in a week."

"Nice to meet you Arthur." Adam turned towards him.

"You too sir."

"Please, its Adam," the two men shook hands, "you take care of her now."

"As long as she'll let me." Adam nodded his consent, turning to join his wife in the taxi. Arthur immediately turned to Ariadne, hating the pained, distant look in her eyes.

"Ariadne?" His voice jarred her from her thoughts as she slowly leveled her eyes to his. She stepped forward, slowly wrapping her arms around him in a long hug. He held her tight, feeling her cling to him in the winter evening chill. "I wanted to pull you from the table so many times." He kissed her forehead. "What happened?"

"My mother just couldn't keep her mouth shut the moment you left the table…'Are you sleeping with him Aria? But he's at least ten years older than you. Be careful, Aria, rich men tend to use and abuse women.'" His hold on her tightened as he listened to her words.

"God Ariadne, I'm sorry. She had no cause to say those things to you."

"I know they're not true, but I hate she thinks of you that way."

"You can't control what others think. As long as you know I love you and would never hurt you, your mother be damned."She smiled into his coat, the conviction on his voice comforting beyond his words.

"I know," she said, raising her head from his shoulder, "I love you Arthur." His lips fell against hers, full of promise. She shivered against him as the winter wind whipped about her legs barred by her skirt.

"You cold love?" His lips danced over hers, forming the words.

"A little." He nuzzled her nose with his, pulling back from the hug to leave an arm wrapped around her back, hand resting low on her left hip, her right side tucked against his body.

"Then let's go home."

xxx

The Areva job had been the simplest so far. They knew they were vulnerable and needed to know how to defend themselves. From there, it had only been a simple matter of showing them the signs and details to be aware of.

Dream terrorism. A very real concept in today's world. It wasn't just enough to terrorize people in their waking hours, but infiltrating dreams to incite terror and steal secrets worthy of global warfare were the wave of the future. Ariadne had readily admitted it was a concept beyond her. But Arthur couldn't bring himself to admit his calculating mind found it brilliant. Terrifying, wrong and brilliant.

A half annoyed smile came to Arthur's face, his thoughts interrupted by the sight before him. He tilted his head to better examine the errant glob of orange body wash on the glass shower wall, shaking his head, raising a finger to wipe it away.

It was clear Hurricane Ariadne was in full force. He noticed she made a most appreciated conscientious effort at cleaning up after herself when she was at his place. But they had lingered slightly too long at a delightful café over fabulous coffee, scones and languid conversation, and now she was making up for lost time.

It was cute in its own little way. She was the one little uncontrollable center of his controlled life and he couldn't help but love her ever more for it. He turned the tap off, reaching for the towel draped over the wall.

"Ow…shit."

"You alright?" He called out, running the towel through his hair, returning it to wrap around his waist before stepping out.

"Yeah, just caught the edge of my ear with the iron."

"Sorry to hear. I'd kiss it better if you weren't armed and dangerous." He planted a soft kiss on her bare shoulder as she focused on the mirror, attempting to get her hair to fall in just the right way. While not girly by any means, she had become most adept at pulling off a feminine, elegant look without looking like she tried too hard. And everyone would be looking tonight. As special guests of the French Minister of Ecology at the opening of opera season in recognition of their work with Areva, it was guaranteed to be an exhausting evening of scrutiny.

Ariadne had been nervous about it for weeks. It sounded so sophisticated and magnificent, she couldn't be sure she wasn't living someone else's dream. The occasional hot sting of the flat iron though was telling her differently. She stole a glance over to Arthur who already had his hair perfectly in place, wishing it was only so easy for her.

He disappeared from the bathroom long before her to dress, leaving her to put the finishing touches on her makeup. She loved the dress she was wearing tonight—a deep navy blue formal that showed just enough skin and hugged her figure in all the right ways. She could only hope Arthur would die when he saw her in it.

She moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, faint strains of music reaching her ears from the living room. Arthur had a strangely surprising penchant for older music—what she liked to call classy, romantic lounge music of the 1960's and 70's. There was something smooth and subtly sexy about it which fit perfectly for him. A smile came to her face as she heard the sound of ice in the cocktail shaker, scrambling to finish dressing so she could go enjoy a drink.

Arthur wasn't surprised Ariadne had taken to a Cosmopolitan like a fish to water. She wasn't a big fan of gin, and liked fruity drinks, so this was right up her alley. Someday he would introduce her to a simple vodka martini, but tonight was about setting the mood. He stooped to retrieve a martini glass from chilling in the bar fridge, his eyes freezing on the delicious dress that hugged Ariadne's body as he rose.

"You look amazing." A nervous smile came to her face as she approached the bar, spinning around so he could ogle all sides of her.

"Thanks, you're not so bad looking yourself." Her eyes raked over his tuxedoed form as low as the bar would let her. "You put James Bond to shame." Arthur near silently laughed over the soft music, pouring her drink.

"For you my dear." He slid the glass across the bar as she slid onto a stool, eyes never leaving his. The cool liquid slid down her throat, filling her with light warmth. Maybe after this she'd stop being so nervous. She watched him reach for the top shelf bourbon and vermouth, mixing a Manhattan, one of his usuals.

The soft opening strains of "Unchained Melody" sounded in the apartment, a private little smile coming to her face as she sipped her drink. She had always loved the song though she was sure she had never told Arthur.

"Well you've worked to make this moment agreeable." She met his slight smile across the bar, willing to lose herself in those handsome, sharp eyes of his.

"Have I now?" He asked innocently, sipping his own drink. "We were already dressing up and going out for the evening."

"But the soft lights, low music, drinks…."

"Then sounds like only one thing's missing." He crossed out from behind the bar, hand going to his jacket pocket, dropping to his right knee in front of her. She bit her lip through an overwhelming smile, eyes briefly closing to ward off the instant welling of tears.

"Ariadne, having you these last two years as a partner in work, life and love has brought me more contentment than I ever expected to find in this life. And nothing would make me happier than to have you be my partner as my wife for the rest of my life. So Ariadne Grace Willems, will you marry me?" He opened the lid to a small velvet box, revealing a white gold ring with a princess cut solitaire nestled among smaller, though still good size diamonds.

"Yes," she struggled to find her voice, swallowing hard, "oh my god yes." She reached her hand down, watching him slide the ring on her finger. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, holding it tight against his smile.

A tear spilled from her eye and she flew off the stool as he rose, throwing her arms around him, feeling him hold her tight in return.

"Was that simple and heartfelt enough for you?" He asked softly, amusement on his voice. "I remember you were rather particular."

"_So you don't approve? Well, what then, may I ask, constitutes a perfect proposal to you?" He asked challengingly as they exited the restaurant._

"_Well not what we just saw," she scoffed, motioning back at the restaurant, "there's no need for fancy dinners or rooms full of people to witness it. If the man is sincere, then it doesn't need to be anything more than a simple, heartfelt question. And certainly no need to attract the whole attention of the restaurant to yell 'She said yes!'"_

She buried her face against his shoulder, recalling her words. Sure they had been loosely talking about marriage, but she had no idea he was actively at work on it.

"Well yes," she said, pulling back from his shoulder, "yes, that was perfect." She met his lips in a series of short, excited kisses. "Oh god," she sniffed, freeing a hand to wipe the tears from her face, "you should have asked me before I did my makeup for the evening."

"You look beautiful." He leaned in, peppering her neck with light kisses.

"Well you're my fiancé—you're biased." He pulled back, meeting her in a shared look over the word 'fiancé'.

"Ok," she wiped at her face, mild annoyance on her voice, "I need to go make sure there's not mascara all down my face."

"Hurry back." She turned from him, heading for the bedroom.

He returned to the bar, breathing deep, reaching for his drink. Even though he had never doubted her answer, he had still been surprisingly nervous as hell to ask. Her words kept echoing in his head as he sipped the fine bourbon—'_that was perfect_.' It had taken much more thought after that night several months ago to come up with something simple and small that would still convey all he wanted. The mile-wide smile on her face was almost too infectious as she returned, holding out her left hand to look at the ring.

"It's beautiful. You did a fantastic job. And kept it a surprise." She reached for her drink, letting go a sigh.

"Well you deserved something as unique and beautiful as you. And of course it had to be a surprise."

"Mmm," she countered, her mouth full before swallowing, "it didn't have to be a surprise. That was just a bonus."

"To my future Mrs. Darren." He raised his glass to hers.

"To my future husband."

Between the excitement, nervousness and champagne, Ariadne couldn't even remember what the opera was about.


	5. Return

I feel I need to put a little warning about the language in this chapter—it gets rather strong towards the end. I apologize in advance if it offends—its meant to be funny, inappropriate and is based on my first Valentine's Day date with my now husband.

Enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 5: Return

She still marveled at how different they were even after two months of marriage. She glanced up at him as he sat at the desk in the office from her sprawled position on the living room floor. He was moving between the slim laptop and his ever present notebook, scribbling feverish notes. A thin smile wisped over her face as she turned back to the architecture books scattered about her and the sketch pad balanced on her knee.

He never let his personal life interfere with his work, even though he worked with his wife. She wouldn't go so far as to call it a split personality, but it was definitely borderline. He did not appreciate being interrupted when he was focused on details and researching. Unfortunately Ariadne had found out the hard way when she casually bothered him only to be met by his unexpected abrupt, cold business tone. She knew better now.

It was the little things like that, until she learned them, which made him a difficult man to live with. She was sure she wasn't much better. Her quirks were just as numerous and probably just as frustrating. The biggest change for them both was adjusting their standard of cleanliness—hers had increased and he begrudgingly allowed a little more slop in his life. But she was sure even he would admit it was a welcome change. It brought a much needed balance to life, both knowing no matter the differences they had made the right choice.

She glanced towards the office, brows knitting in confusion as Arthur's cell ringtone reached her ears. His cell only rang for business and their current client was waiting to hear back from them. She strained to listen without appearing interested.

"Yes?...What this time?...How do you expect to get out of the country?" Arthur leaned back in the office chair, hand going to loosen his tie. "…No….I know you've done it before." She watched his head turn, eyes meeting hers for a minute. "Alright. Message when your plane lands….Ok." He sighed a near silent sigh, returning the phone to the glass desktop.

"Who was that?" The phone call had already interrupted him, so Ariadne had no qualms with asking.

"Eames. He's in trouble and needs a place to lay low." Arthur turned to her with a near sheepish look. "He's coming here."

"He's what?"

xxx

Arthur had received the message at 9:30 on a Thursday night. The taxi had pulled up to the curb about twenty minutes later. Blessedly, he reached the front door before Ariadne. That was not the first meeting she wanted.

"Why hello Arthur." Eames had a near flirty smile on his face, instantly arousing the ex point man's annoyance as he opened the door. "Miss me?"

"Not in the slightest." He stepped back, the forger entering, suitcase in hand.

"A shame really darling. How's that stick up your ass?" He looked over his shoulder to meet with Arthur's sharp glare.

"I'm the one doing you a favor, and you're the one insulting me?"

"Now boys, play nice…you haven't even been together five minutes yet." Eames turned with shock at Ariadne's voice coming from the living room, turning to see her setting a bowl of something on the coffee table.

"Ariadne?" He had to ask, even though he knew it was her. It was the last thing he was expecting.

"Good to see you too Eames."

"What are you doing here?" He looked to Arthur as if demanding an answer.

"My wife has a right to be in our home." Arthur smoothly answered, watching as something unrecognizable flashed through Eames' eyes as he turned to Ariadne.

"Your wife? You two got married?" Ariadne smiled an innocent smile, barely shrugging her shoulders. "And I wasn't invited?" A disbelieving smile came to Eames' face.

"No one was invited Eames," Ariadne said, walking through the living room, "we jetted to Turks and Caicos for two weeks, had a private sunset wedding on the beach. Worlds better than dealing with the awkwardness of families and drunken friends."

"I wouldn't have been too obnoxious." Eames protested, meeting her amused smile.

"Well the guestroom hasn't changed," Arthur said, moving around the other two, "you're in there."

"Gracious as ever Arthur," Eames half bowed in mock thanks, "but I really do owe you—both—a great deal of thanks."

"You owe us a story once you set your stuff down." Ariadne turned to meet Arthur at the bar as Eames headed for the guestroom.

"'Guestroom hasn't changed?'" She asked curiously, softly."Eames has stayed here before?"

"He has always had a knack for staying in trouble."

"But I thought you disdained him?" She recalled his earlier words, watching Arthur take a breath to speak, stopping as he watched Eames reenter the living room.

"I never thought I would see a Christmas tree in this place." Eames stopped to study the evergreen adorned with silver and glass ornaments.

"That was my doing." Ariadne started, turning with a drink in hand. "Makes it feel like Christmas."

"Convenient timing by the way," Arthur moved out from behind the bar, handing a drink to Eames as they all sat in the living room, "Christmas is just a week away."

"Nothing convenient about it, I assure you. Not like I asked for hit-men and upheaval during all this holiday traffic."

"Hit-men?" Ariadne failed to keep the nervous tone from her voice. "How did you lose them? They didn't follow you did they?"

"No." Eames and Arthur answered in near unison to her surprise. "I've had people after me before and they have never tracked me down." Eames finished. "Forged identities help get me out of the country I'm in, and to a place of safety."

"What was it this time?" Arthur asked, taking a sip of bourbon.

"Nothing more than a large gambling debt I'm ashamed to say. Paying up by New Year's means paying whenever they send men around. Apparently this man has killed over pennies worth of differences and if you can't pay up when they arrive, game over."

"How can you be that stupid?" Arthur asked pointedly, frustration flashing in his dark eyes. "Do you ever find out about anyone before getting monetarily involved?"

"No darling…I'm not you." Eames quipped sarcastically, eyes squinting to glare at Arthur. "I torched my place before I left. Should be a hot enough fire that no human remains can be found."

"Enough Eames, please." Ariadne pleaded, holding up a hand. "God, I had no idea you were in so over your head."

"Oh yes," Arthur said, casting the forger a disapproving look, "there's a long history of trouble with this vice of his. This case sounds like one of the more mild ones actually."

"I find vices are nothing more than habits we choose not to break," Eames said brushing off Arthur's disparaging glare, "makes us who we are."

"But this could cost you your life." Ariadne said, taking a sip.

"A short life and a merry one then. But no one's caught me yet."

"Remarkable really." Arthur said. "Have you been working? It's obvious you're not currently working." Eames only got into gambling trouble while in between jobs.

"Very astute darling. There are others I work with and have been steadily employed since the Fischer job until about a month ago. How time flies when you're having fun. What are you two doing these days…besides each other of course." Ariadne felt her cheeks flush even though she should have expected it.

"I work with him." She simply said, inclining her head in Arthur's direction. It was more interesting to watch Arthur and Eames carry on a conversation.

"We hire out to clients who need to know about defending their dreams from extractors. We show them the tricks; open their eyes to the details they would otherwise miss."

"Bloody hell," a note of betrayal sounded on Eames' voice, "how can you do that? Don't you feel the slightest bit guilty about selling the secrets that keep your friends employed?"

"Are you my friend?" Arthur asked curtly.

"I knew deep down you were a heartless bastard." Eames grumbled as Ariadne's eyes widened. Tension suddenly filled the room.

"Whoa," she said, raising a hand as if to placate them, "I don't know how you two ever managed to stay together before without killing each other. But I refuse to be in the middle. So both of you," she shot a stern glance to Eames, turning to land on Arthur, "I know annoying the other person is favorite a pastime, but cool it, alright?"

"My apologies. Arthur and I have always bandied words. They never mean much despite their outward appearance." Eames tipped his glass to Arthur.

"Most of the time," Arthur agreed, inclining his glass to Eames before taking a sip.

"This is going to be an interesting Christmas." Ariadne sighed, taking a drink.

xxx

For her benefit, both men seemed to back down from their usual banter. But Eames had only been staying with them for three nights, so Ariadne couldn't say for sure how much longer it would last. If anything, Eames' presence was being felt more in little changes around the apartment than in the conversation.

She wasn't sure if he was really already bored with Paris or just enjoyed messing with her husband for whatever childish reason. So far it had been little things—moving books around on the office bookshelf, relocating the fruit basket, hanging up coats that had been left out with the intention of wearing again—and every time, Ariadne watched Arthur's jaw set in annoyed lines as he worked to put things back as they were. And every time, she had to fight to keep from laughing.

Light music sounded from the living room as she rounded the corner to the kitchen, flipping on the lights. Eames was blessedly out for the night. He didn't say where, but she guessed Arthur knew. He was just a little too happy that they were alone. They had spent the better part of the day researching their latest client—Conrad Rennet at the request of his father Maurice Rennet—and she was grateful Arthur had finally called it a day. Never mind it was nearly nine at night.

She fished lettuce, leftover chicken and other assorted veggies from the fridge. He had taken well to leftovers considering his fine tastes for food, and was a surprisingly decent cook. She wasn't really surprised given how thin he was.

"Celebrating something?" She asked in surprise as she noticed Arthur coming to the kitchen with a wine bottle in hand.

"Christmas vacation," he idly said, "no more working until after the holiday. We've earned it." She started shredding lettuce for a salad dinner, meeting his smile as he opened the bottle.

"You can't be serious," she said almost in disbelief, "the only time I have ever known you to stop working is when you're between jobs."

"Well I've never had a wife to share Christmas with before."

"Ah, but you had a girlfriend last Christmas." She took the offered wine glass, relishing the rich taste as she reached for the tomatoes and cutting board.

"Well that was different." She laughed, lighting punching him in the arm as he moved in to slice up chicken and she settled into chopping tomatoes.

"Oh…my god…." Ariadne started laughing as the new song started, soft lyrics filling the room, watching Arthur's face set in frustration, his eyes sinking closed.

_You don't always have to fuck her hard  
In fact sometimes that's not right to do  
Sometimes you've got to make some love  
And fucking give her some smooches too_

"Eames must think he's pretty clever." Arthur said at length.

"This song's actually pretty funny." Ariadne said, popping a piece of chopped tomato in her mouth. "He just does it get a rise out of you as you well know."

"Yes, yes…I'm well aware of his constant crusade to loosen me up."

"He is kind of right you know…it wouldn't kill you to loosen up a little sometimes." He turned from the counter, with a pointed, though playful, surprised look.

"Oh really? Well you know what I'm like, and chose to marry me anyway." She moved over to him, dumping the tomatoes from the cutting board in the bowl, smiling.

"And I wouldn't change that." She raised to her tiptoes, kissing his neck quickly.

_Sometimes ya got to squeeze  
Sometimes you've got to say please  
Sometime you've got to say hey  
I'm gonna fuck you softly  
I'm gonna screw you gently  
I'm gonna hump you sweetly  
I'm gonna ball you discreetly_

"'_And then you say hey I bought you flowers_.'"

"You actually know this song?" Arthur tossed casually over his shoulder, adding the sliced chicken to the salad.

"Oh yeah, Tenacious D…an earlier boyfriend was a big fan. They have some clever songs. And this one's actually kind of sweet."

_And then you say wait a minute sally  
I think I got something in my teeth  
Could you get it out for me  
That's fucking teamwork_

"Yes," Arthur agreed as he continued to listen, "real sweet." He would have to fix things so Eames couldn't mess with his music collection anymore. Lord knows what else the man had already gotten into.

_What's your favorite position?  
That's cool with me  
It's not my favorite  
But I'll do it for you  
What's your favorite dish?  
I'm not gonna cook it  
But ill order it from Zanzibar_

Ariadne finished rinsing the corn and black beans, carrying them back over to the counter.

"'_And then I'm gonna love you completely',_" she wrapped an around his stomach, pulling him against her, swaying to the music, "'_and then I'll fucking fuck you discreetly.'"_ She rose to her tiptoes, her voice lowering, nipping his ear, loving the mischievous smirk on his face as she moved next to him.

"You better."

"You'd have to thank Eames."

"Well then, maybe not."

_And then I'll fucking bone you completely  
But then I'm gonna fuck you hard  
Hard_

"Thanks dear," she scoffed, reaching for bowls and spoons, "it's nice to see I mean that much to you." She suddenly felt his hands fall about her waist, turning her around and lifting her to sit on the counter, his body tight against hers. Memories of the warehouse, their reunion, this similar position flooded her mind.

"Can't have my wife thinking her husband can't cut loose now can I?" His lips fell to her neck, reaching the sensitive spot just below her ear, his hands snaking up the back of her shirt. A sigh left her as she rolled her head back, heat rushing straight to her core, becoming even more pliable under his hands.

"What about dinner?" She near moaned the words as his fingers drifted under her bra with teasing circles.

"Fuck dinner."

xxx

Hope you enjoyed! Hooray marriage and Eames. What will happen next…stay tuned!

And if you want to know—we cooked dinner at my then boyfriend's apartment for our first Valentine's date. His roommates were upstairs so as to not ruin the mood. We sit down to dinner and its quiet, then suddenly we hear this song come on full blast from upstairs. At first, boyfriend starts singing & then roommates join him, and the 3 of them serenade me with above Tenacious D song. It was sweet, hilarious and mildly shocking all at the same time.


	6. Reservation

Thanks again for the continued support everyone! Here's a little quickie. Busy times coming up, but I'll do my best to keep posting chapters in a timely manner!

Please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 6: Reservation

Christmas had always been about the music. The message was always there, wrapped in a lyrical, beautiful melody. Since her first Christmas in Paris at the Notre Dame Christmas Eve Mass, Ariadne found herself even more addicted. And she wasn't even Catholic.

Arthur tolerated it. He'd once mentioned belief in peoples' souls but he never gave a religious inkling beyond that. She'd often thought of asking him how it came about in his childhood, but wasn't religious enough to risk getting into a theological discussion. She only felt the urge to go to church once a year on Christmas Eve. They hadn't even gotten married in a church after all.

She wrapped her rich red scarf around her neck, moving to the closet to grab her coat, waiting for Arthur to come around with the car. Ever the gentleman.

"Eames?" She looked at him in surprise, noting his sharp gray suit, navy dress shirt, coat in hand.

"Arthur said you two were going to the Notre Dame mass tonight…I thought I'd go along." His voice was soft, respectful even. Nothing about it resembled usual Eames.

"I'm surprised…," she said, something of a smile coming to her face, as she put on her coat, "Arthur told me you all but laughed when he mentioned we were going."

"Well, that is true," he said, sliding into his coat, following her as she moved for the front door, "but I was raised Catholic, so there's some nagging part telling me to go."

"I wouldn't have guessed."

"It didn't end well, so it doesn't often come up." He held the door open for her as they walked to the curb in the light falling snow. "Arthur would have loved Catholic school though—everyone's so uptight and a bore." She cast him a glare before he slid into the backseat of A5, crawling in after him.

"Eames?" Arthur turned his head to look at the man in the backseat.

"I just couldn't bear to deprive you of my company for so long darling." His earlier tone was gone, replaced by typical Eames, complete with cock-sure grin. Ariadne shook her head, hoping they wouldn't argue the whole way to the church.

"Splendid," Arthur's tone did nothing to support the notion as he shifted into gear, pulling from the curb, city lights mixed with Christmas lights flashing by. "Just behave yourself; it is a church after all."

"I'm touched you have such faith in me."

"Boys, don't make me sit between you two." She almost didn't know why Eames felt the need to put up a front around Arthur. He had no trouble with his little confession five minutes ago around her. She couldn't help but wonder if something had happened in the past between them, or if they were always just at each other's throats.

The notes of the pipe organ echoed off the stone walls with such rich tones she almost felt her eyes tear up from time to time. She had always been one for music, and the cathedral only enhanced the experience. The Christmas Eve mass was always her favorite for its simple beauty. Sure she couldn't participate in any of the traditions, and neither could Arthur, but it still brought the most satisfying peace.

Arthur's eyes narrowed in silent confusion as Eames rose, walking past them to join the line for communion. He noticed the small smile on Ariadne's face as she watched Eames' movements. The look on the other man's face however was a strange mix of annoyance and reverence. Arthur would almost never have guessed the man could look so conflicted. Eames returned solemnly to his seat, the other two letting him have his moment. Arthur hoped Ariadne would bring it up in the car so he could listen. He had caught glimpses of what lay beneath Eames' exterior over the years, but this was something he would never have guessed.

Unfortunately for him, the car ride home passed in peaceable silence, each person seemingly content in their own mind. He glanced over to his wife as she now stood near the tall window, watching the snow fall to the street below. The content little smile on her face made him want nothing more than to hold her always. He pulled the black coffee mug out of the microwave, silence accented by the soft Christmas music strains returning to the apartment.

He crossed from the kitchen to the living room, an arm falling about her waist to hold her lightly against him as he passed the mug forward.

"The lady's cider."

"Thanks." She held the mug, feeling its warmth spread through her hand as she snuggled back in his embrace, her head falling to rest against his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas." He said softly, kissing her brow.

"Merry Christmas to you." She tipped her head, pressing her lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. He brushed her nose with his before pulling back to tighten his hold on her, feeling her relax more into him as they stood together, watching the snow fall.

Eames fought to keep his heart from wrenching as he entered the living room, quietly stumbling on the couple's embrace. He wondered if he would ever be so lucky someday, and quickly doubted it. He debated about just going back to his room and not disturbing them when he looked up to meet Arthur's eyes.

"Would you like something to drink?" Arthur asked casually as Ariadne turned, inching slightly away from Arthur at seeing Eames.

"No, no thank you," the forger quietly said, suddenly looking unsure if he'd interrupted something, "I was thinking I just might go to bed."

"But it's early still, not even eleven yet." Ariadne said before taking a sip of the hot apple cider, loving the spice.

"I know," he said softly, "but it's your first Christmas together as husband and wife. And I don't want to intrude."

"No intrusion." Arthur said, surprise on his voice at the near sheepishness in Eames' voice.

"But you're obviously not with family for some reason."

"We're not with family," Ariadne started softly, "for the same reasons they weren't at our wedding—Arthur's family situation is unique at best," she used his previous words, not knowing too much more herself, "and my mother doesn't approve of Arthur."

"I would imagine that's a first for you Arthur." The usual playful tone had still not returned to Eames' voice.

"She only thinks he's out to use me because he knows he has enough money to get another girl when I wise up." Ariadne looked between Eames and Arthur. "Even still, though she knows we're married."

"She really doesn't know him then, does she?" Eames wisely, softy said.

"No she doesn't." Ariadne looked to Arthur with an almost sad smile.

"The same could be surmised of you Eames," Arthur said quietly, his tone pleasantly questioning, "that you're not with family for a reason." A forced smile came to Eames' face.

"Well, Christmas with my family has never been an experience I long to repeat," he said dismissively, "my mother, nose-deep in her bible and rosary, my father, drunk off his ass and yelling about the overcooked turkey. Waking Christmas morning only to find a new school tie and socks under the tree because father squandered too much money at the tracks." The smile fell from Ariadne's face as she listened. "So far this Christmas has been one of the best I can remember."

"But it's not even Christmas day yet." She said softly.

"No, but I'm not with the family, and I'm not alone, so that's something." Something of a sad, yet content smile came to his face. "But I'll say goodnight, and you two have a Happy Christmas Eve."

"Good night Eames. Merry Christmas Eve to you too." Ariadne said, offering him a warm smile.

"Night Eames." Arthur said with a quick nod, meeting Eames' eyes before he turned and headed for the guestroom. Something pulled at Arthur to unhook his arm from around his wife to reach out to the forger and stop him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

xxx

Back to work. There was always a job to be done, and Ariadne was still surprised Arthur had voluntarily not worked for a week. But back to Maurice, the eccentric billionaire father who wanted to teach a lesson to his eccentric billionaire son. Eames had been too intrigued to walk away. Arthur had been reluctant at first to give away too many details up front, but came to realize Eames' skills could be most useful.

"So what'd you learn that we can use?" Ariadne asked from her sprawled position on the couch, sketch pad in hand. She'd grown to love rough sketching as they talked through details.

"I've fought against it," Arthur started, consulting his ever present notebook, "but there's only one real word to sum up our mark: cowboy. He's searched the world over for every piece of John Wayne paraphernalia available and unavailable. Lives on a multi-acre cattle ranch in the country. Hosts an annual cattle drive every year for his closest friends and family—gets permission from government authorities and local landowners to drive a herd of cattle through their property, and they'll ride for about a week. Of course, everything's authentic."

"Here in France? You cannot be serious?" Eames deadpanned, looking for a hint of a joke on Arthur's ever serious face.

"I wish I weren't," Arthur cast Eames a quick glare before returning to his notes, "his father had always hoped it was a phase little Conrad would grow out of—"

"Conrad?" Eames interrupted.

"But he is now 42," Arthur continued unaffected, "and showing no sign of changing." Ariadne had long been fighting not to laugh.

"So what's his father want us to do exactly?" She asked, shaking her head, laughing softly. "I don't see how we can teach him a lesson."

"This is where it gets better," Arthur's tone did nothing to support the notion, "Conrad has recently been frequenting a private company that specializes in "dream vacations". Very exclusive, very expensive. You tell them exactly what you want your dream vacation to be, and they take care of all the details. You just pay, show up and they put you under."

"So he rides around with the Lone Ranger or something in his dreams?" Ariadne asked casually.

"John Wayne actually."

"Of course." She remembered the earlier comment about John Wayne paraphernalia.

"So father's afraid for his son taking dream vacations as it would be all too easy for extractors to take advantage of the situation." Eames surmised.

"But does the son know anything worth extracting?" Ariadne ventured.

"Everyone has secrets." Arthur said quietly, eyes flitting to Eames for a second. "I think we go time period, set up an old western setting."

"Let me just say, for the record, I am not forging John Wayne." Eames stated, instantly glaring at Ariadne as she laughed. "You laugh, but just wait and see."

"I don't know Eames, that's what I was thinking," Arthur said, the other man turning to glare, "the mark would respond strongly, and for him to see how easy it is to impersonate his idol would help drive the point home."

"Easy…," Eames grumbled, "there's nothing easy about it."

"Well it wouldn't have to be spot on," Ariadne ventured, seeing what Arthur was getting at, "the mark will think he's in one of his dream vacations and if his love of the wild west is anything like it sounds, he'll be enjoying himself too much to pay attention to details."

"Then we step in to show how easy it is to take the situation for granted." Arthur finished, looking to Ariadne with a small appreciative smile.

"Sounds like we'll be watching a lot of movies to get a feel for the atmosphere we're supposed to create?" Ariadne asked, lazily sketching a quintessential western jail.

"Eames might, to get a feel for his task. But, conveniently, I called the dream vacation company , said I was interested in a western themed dream vacation," he did his best to ignore the surprised laughs from Ariadne and Eames at such a ridiculous concept, "and they sent me three outlines of slightly different scenarios they offer for dream stories." He walked over to his bag and pulled out a folder, handing them each a packet.

"Oh this is too good," Ariadne sat up, fighting not to laugh at the whole thing, "'Let's giddy up'an ride out. We'll catch them no good outlaws!'" Her head flopped back on the couch cushion, laughter echoing off the walls.

"So what…I'm the sheriff, and little Conrad is my deputy and we set out to clean up the town." Eames said, flipping through the packet with lackluster interest.

"That's the basic idea." Arthur said. "Ariadne's a girl of the town under siege of the dreaded outlaw you two are out to catch."

"And who's the dreaded outlaw?" Eames' eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"I'm the last one left." Arthur met Ariadne's amused smile over this words.

"Art the Outlaw," Eames quipped with a dry smile, "cute." Arthur's eyes narrowed to a disgusted glare.

"Don't ever call me that again."

"You got to admit," Ariadne agreed, "it is quite catchy…Art." His pointed glare met his wife's mischievous smile.

"Eames, I'll have you know I'm kicking your ass twice over for every annoying idea you give her." Arthur's tone left no room for questioning as he returned to scribbling in his notebook.

"Whatever you say Art." Arthur ignored the other man's casual tone, closing his notebook and crossing the room, soundly thumping Eames in the back of the head with it. Ariadne watched a thin smile ghost over Eames' face as he raised a hand to rub the back of his head.

"I'm impressed…I didn't think he had the gumption," his eyes met Ariadne's, alight with a teasing smile, "makes me wonder what he's like in the bedroom." Arthur bit back a scathing response.

"You're changing the subject," Ariadne said, her mind still suck on this bizarre western dream concept, "so we bring this Conrad into a dream that he thinks is one of his fancy dream vacations. He rides with Eames as John Wayne, and then meets you as the bad guy in town and I'm a damsel in distress. And then we somehow make him realize how vulnerable he is?" How could Arthur possibly think this was going to work?"

"Don't like a challenge?" Arthur cast her a sideways, adventurous glance.

"Well," Ariadne shrugged her shoulders with an accepting smile, "I'm a _Deadwood_ fan, so I'll watch some episodes to get a feel for the look of the streets and buildings. Shouldn't be too hard to make them tricky in case we need to run."

"So long as you give me a bank, preferably front and center, next to a saloon." Arthur was again at work with his notebook. "Our heroes will ride into town to find the bad guy holding an innocent girl hostage. He'll drag her to the bank for cover, let her go & open the safe. This will force a set-up for an old fashioned shoot out, and that's when we'll spring our trap." Eames had long been silent, a strangely pensive look on his face, arms crossed about his chest.

"I don't think it can be done." He said quietly.

"It'll certainly take some extra rehearsals. I'm not much of one for being a damsel in distress." Ariadne added.

"I hate horses, and I hate westerns." Eames grumbled.

"Stop sounding like a child Eames." Arthur scolded. "We'll make sure you have a Winchester to play with."

"You're serious? John Wayne?" Eames leaned forward, turning to glare back at Arthur.

"When I first met you Eames, you said you were the best," Arthur looked from his notebook to the forger with a mischievous smirk, "and you're willing to admit someone might be better than you?" Eames eyes' narrowed to Arthur's, face setting in confident determination.

"Saddle up pilgrim and stand back."

xxx

Thanks for reading! I loved the idea of these characters in/discussing an extreme dream setting, so I had some fun with it and hope you did too. More to come…hopefully sooner rather than later…


	7. Ruse

Apologies for the long delay, hopefully this long chapter makes amends. Things have been crazy, and I've tried to build up a backlog so I don't go so long between posts. But things are nowhere near the end, and I refuse to leave a story unfinished, so hope you enjoy this latest offering!

xxx

Chapter 7: Ruse

One whole month. Eames was almost beginning to feel like a mooch. He hadn't intended to stay with Arthur, and turns out Ariadne as well, for this long but didn't know if there was a moment when he should have left. He still hadn't done what he came to do, but he had to help them through this bizarre western job first. Fortunately it would be over in a matter of days, and he could finally move on.

He glanced around the apartment, stopping at the floor to ceiling window in the living room, looking down at the snow covered street. Nice neighborhood, nice flat—much nicer than any hotel he could afford were he to move out. If only he hadn't inherited his father's love of gambling and rotten luck.

His eyes fixed on the figure of a woman rounding the corner across the street, a shadowy figure coming up to her quick, falling in step beside her. He had been exposed to street life enough to know what it meant. He flew from the window for the door, hoping his legs could carry him fast enough.

X

"Bon soir madame." Ariadne turned her head, wearily regarding the man next to her.

"Hi." She fought to keep the nervousness from her voice, glancing ahead to see if anyone was around on the street to help.

"Ah, American eh? Give me your bag, jewelry."

"What?" His fist flew out, connecting with her forehead, knocking her off her feet to the ground. She fought for her breath, head reeling.

"Your bag…jewelry. I've been following you since the bus and seen that rock on your finger."

"But—." Again he lashed out, knocking her head back to smack against the snowy sidewalk. He bent over her, wrenching the ring from her limp hand, pulling her bag free with the other. She lay defenseless, willing the world to stop spinning and her head to stop throbbing. A dark figure of movement blurred above her and she swore she heard voices, but couldn't be immediately sure.

"Shit….Ariadne." Eames dropped to his knees in the snow, her bag forgotten at his side as his hand ghosted over the thin trail of blood running down her face. Slowly her eyes settled on his, squinting to focus.

"Ea…Eames?" The late night winter wind bit at him through his clothes as he nodded quickly.

"Yeah, we need to get you inside." He gathered her gently in his arms, quickly crossing the street and disappearing inside.

The trip back up to the apartment seemed much quicker than his earlier trip down.

Gingerly he set her on the couch, dropping her bag at her feet before stooping to undo her coat buttons. She numbly watched, moving her arms somewhat to aide him in his removal of her coat, watching him then drop to brush the snow from her pant legs. He rose, moving to grabbing a blanket from another chair.

"Here," he handed it to her, "for if you get cold before I get back. I'm going to find something to fix your head." She nodded mutely, not even bothering to inspect her head. Given how it hurt, she knew something was wrong with it. She unfolded the blanket, lazily attempting to spread it over herself, leaning back against the couch as Eames moved off.

He reached the bathroom, opening cabinets, looking for first aid supplies with one hand, cell phone in the other.

"Arthur, you need to come home. Ariadne's just been attacked and mugged." That was all that needed to be said, and having found what he was looking for, returned to the living room.

"Still with me?" He asked quietly, sitting on the couch next to her, a smile coming to his face as she met his eyes.

"I think I'm coming back to you," she said weakly, "I remember being hit and then suddenly you were there." Eames raised a wash cloth to her forehead, dabbing at the open wound.

"He was after your bag…simple mugging." He shook his head in disgust as she suddenly she raced to feel her left hand ring finger, heart wrenching at the lack of what she found.

"He took my wedding ring." She swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to cry

"Really?" Eames nearly dropped the bandage in his hand, "god, I'm sorry Ariadne. If I had known…I didn't even think about that." She shook her head dismissively, sniffling.

"You couldn't have known." She raised her heavy eyes to watch him place a bandage over her cut.

"Well I managed to get your bag back at least. And your cut's nothing serious. You'll have a nasty bruise though."

"I bet people will silently wonder if Arthur did it." She managed a weak smile, inwardly laughing at her own wrong joke. "Did you tell him?"

"He's on his way home." She nodded silently, wondering how he was going to react.

"Six years…." She said softly to herself.

"Six years?" Eames asked quietly, settling back against the couch.

"I've lived in Paris six years, and never had any trouble. Guess it was just time for the world to balance itself out." She tucked her feet up on the couch, shifting to lean the other direction against Eames' shoulder. Tears instantly started welling in her eyes at the simple contact and she couldn't stop them. She sniffled, drawing in a shaky breath as Eames turned his head, catching a tear rolling down her face.

"Hey, you're alright." He said softly, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her against him. She threw her arms around his torso, dissolving into him. Nothing had ever made her feel so vulnerable before tonight. He continued to hold her against him, almost hoping Arthur wouldn't suddenly walk in. It'd be an easy explanation, but still one he didn't feel like making.

Her sniffling slowly subsided and her hold on him loosened. He looked to her face that rested against his chest, noting her eyes were closed, her breaths evening out. He smiled a knowing smile, gingerly scooping her up and moving for her bedroom.

He set her gently against the soft linens, hearing the distant sound of a door open. About bloody time.

"What took you so long?" Eames asked, returning to the living room.

"Where is she?" Arthur's voice was calm, determined.

"She fell asleep on the couch, so I carried her to your bed." Arthur brushed past the other man towards the bedroom, heart wrenching at the sight of the bandage of her head. He peeled off his suit jacket as he crossed over to the bed, lowering to spoon lightly against her, nuzzling her neck, placing soft delicate kisses.

"God, Ariadne, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you." He whispered near silently against her neck.

"Arthur?" He heard her weak voice, watching her hand rise to try and touch him.

"Right here." He said quietly, rising up on an elbow to watch her roll over, meeting his concerned eyes as they focused on her head. Gently his hand rose to gingerly trace the swelling bruise. He would have to remember to bring some ice back for it. "What I wouldn't give to tear that bastard to pieces for what he did to you."

"I think Eames already did that. He got my bag back for me at least," her eyes briefly flitted away from his, "but he got away my wedding ring."

"If that's all he took, that's the least of my worries. He could have hurt you so much more. And if Eames hadn't been here…." He brushed a hand gently down the side of her face, leaning down to kiss her slowly, comfortingly. Tears again sprung to her eyes at his tender touch, wanting to hide herself in him for the rest of the night. "Go back to sleep love. I'll join you shortly." She nodded, meeting him for one last kiss before rolling over, sighing against the pillow, feeling his body weight rise off the mattress.

He closed the door softly behind him, letting loose a sigh, raising a hand to loosen his tie. His eyes fell first to Eames who was sitting in the arm chair, then to the highball in his hand.

"I made you one." Eames slightly nodded to the glass of amber liquid on the coffee table.

"Thanks." Arthur slowly walked over, dropping to the couch before reaching for the glass. Leave it to Eames to go for his best bourbon, but he wouldn't have picked anything different himself. "Nice choice."

"They're all nice choices given the source, but this seemed most appropriate." Eames paused to take a sip, relishing in the smooth drink. "Is she still asleep?"

"She is now. I accidently woke her up."

"She'll be alright. It wasn't a serious cut."

"I saw." A comfortable silence descended as each man again turned to his respective drink.

"She makes you happy, doesn't she?" Eames asked quietly, a hint of longing on his voice.

"Yes."

"I can tell."

"Please don't screw with it."

"As much as I want to, I do know better." Eames took another quick sip. "Have you ever told her?"

"Nothing to tell," Arthur spoke into his glass, taking a drink, "it was one night."

"But there—."

"I was drunk."

"That's not exactly—."

"Eames, you were even more drunk. You instigated and I followed. I told you the following morning how it was. I made you no promises."

"Never mind that I wanted to?" Eames' eyes locked to Arthur's.

"Then you shouldn't have taken advantage of the situation."

"God knows how many times I've apologized for it. Need I remind you it's my biggest regret, and not."

"Every time." Something of a small, sad smile came to Arthur's face, wrenching Eames' heart. "If something had changed, you would know by now. What's done is done."

"Enough said then." Eames raised his glass with a small smile, finishing it off. "Well I'm going to call it a night. The longer we sit here, the more I want to push you against those cushions and kiss you senseless." He rose, empty glass in hand, crossing behind the couch, watching Arthur's heavy eyes follow him. He stopped, resting a supportive hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I'm sorry about Ariadne."

"Thank you for helping her." Arthur met Eames' eyes over his shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Arthur's dress shirt. "I just realized I hadn't said that yet."

"I didn't even know it was her at first," he admitted, "but I'd do it again any time." Arthur absently raised his hand to rest against Eames' on his shoulder, the cool metal of his wedding ring a sting to the forger's skin. Eames' hand on Arthur's shoulder tightened to a longing hold before nodding with a small smile and disappearing to the guest room.

xxx

Ariadne squinted up into the bright sun. It seemed eerily familiar. But the dusty streets and long sleeved, full length cotton dress she wore were telling her different. She hefted the wicker basket in her hand, glancing up the street from under her blue bonnet, thankful real life bruise on her head hadn't followed her into the dreamspace.

As ridiculous as she looked, she knew Arthur and Eames looked worse. She almost hadn't been able to keep a straight face in rehearsal. But this was it—show time. She could only hope Eames was doing a convincing job.

Eames found Conrad a relatively unassuming character. One look at him and nothing even resembling the word cowboy came to mind. But he knew his stuff, and Eames, as John Wayne, was careful not to say too much.

"The sheriff's office? I've never started out here before." Conrad mumbled to himself as he sat in a high-backed leather chair. "Touché dream company."

"Talkin' to yourself deputy?" Wayne—Eames—looked to the mark with a questioning look, his perfected twang dripping from every word.

"'Course not. I like this." Conrad hopped out of the chair, lazily strolling over the bulletin board pinned with wanted posters. "Looks like this Art character's the worst."

"You bet," Eames rose, still not used to his increased height, "held up a stagecoach some weeks back. Hit a bank in Wolf City before that. Rumor has it he's on his way here."

"Then we'll get him." The excitement in Conrad's voice was almost overwhelming. Eames only wished he was half as excited. He'd spent the last few weeks watching nothing but John Wayne movies—studying his movements, facial expressions, voice tones. He was sure the people at the dream company weren't any better. And so far, Conrad was buying everything. "Shall we saddle up and ride out?"

"Naw, best let him come to us." Eames moved for the door, stopping on the porch to glance down the street, hoping to spot Arthur. Sure enough, the point man didn't disappoint.

"Mon dieu!" Conrad exclaimed, coming up behind Eames. "That's him…Art the Outlaw!"

"So it is." Eames' tone dropped in annoyance as he started off the porch, making a beeline towards Art, Conrad matching his every step. Eames almost couldn't even believe this was the same Arthur—a thin layer of stubble covered his chin, his clothes were dark, rough, dusty, and the cowboy hat and boots, on him, were slightly ridiculous. He looked like a tall little boy playing cowboy. Eames almost found it too cute.

"Art?" He leveled the man with a steel gaze.

"Sheriff?" The other man questioned back, his tone light, playful, with a slight twang. So unlike Arthur.

"You do realize you're out in broad daylight and I am the sheriff?"

"I believe you have me mistaken for someone else." An innocent smile spread over Arthur's face.

"We know all about you, Art the Outlaw," Conrad started, "held up a coach, robbed a bank in Wolf City." Eames fought back a smile at how well this was going as Conrad repeated his words.

"Gentlemen, please," Arthur's smile turned jovial, "I don't know what you're talking about. Let me buy you a drink?" He clapped a hand on Eames—John Wayne's—shoulder only to receive a steely eyed glare.

"I got a touch of hangover, outlaw…don't push me." Arthur hadn't remembered Eames being quite this grumpy in rehearsal. He watched Eames' hand lower to rest on his gun before turning to glance over his shoulder. Conrad's mouth suddenly dropped, scrambling for his gun as Art whipped around grabbing the nearest girl walking by, holding her against him, gun pressed to her temple.

"Help!" Ariadne's eyes widened in practiced panic as Arthur pressed the gun against her head. "Sheriff! Deputy!"

"It's alright ma'am," Conrad called out, "we won't let him hurt you."

"I'd just like to see you try." Arthur pressed the gun harder against her head, Ariadne's pleas for help ringing in his ears. Conrad couldn't believe it—this story was so much better than previous dream vacations. He would have to tell the company so when he wok up.

"Just calm down," Eames raised his hands, putting himself between Art and his deputy. "Important thing deputy is that you don't fire that hog-leg or this'll be worse than Dodge City on Saturday night. Art doesn't want to kill her."

"Oh no?" Arthur stepped back, dragging Ariadne with him, nearing the door to the bank. "Try to stop me or follow me, and see what that gets you."

"No! Let me go! Please!" Her cries persisted as he dragged her the last few feet inside the bank, projections scattering, surprising them that the mark was nervous, scared even but not feeling threatened.

"What do we do Sheriff? He's gonna kill her." Conrad looked helpless towards the bank.

"We wait. They gotta come out sometime." He looked to Conrad, who looked as though he was debating charging in. "Put that gun away, pilgrim. You make me nervous." Conrad looked to John Wayne with a smile—he had always loved the saying "pilgrim."

"Good job." Arthur whispered against her neck, stealing a quick kiss before heading towards the safe. "Your line."

"What…what are you doing?" She called out, making sure she was loud enough for them to hear her outside. "You can't open that—it's not your money! Ok, ok…please don't hurt me."

"Sheriff, I can't wait any longer. Let me go in there!"Conrad pleaded, bouncing on his feet.

"You want her death on your hands, by all means." Eames waved towards the bank, watching Conrad temporarily still. What in bloody hell was taking Arthur so long with that safe?

"Got it." Arthur returned from the vault room, box in hand, dropping his hat to the floor. "Almost too easy." Gone was Art, replaced with ever-serious Arthur. "Monsieur Rennet!" Conrad flinched, brows scrunching in confusion. "Monsieur Conrad Rennet! Don't shoot."

"His gun's put away." John Wayne confirmed as Arthur's empty hand appeared in the doorway before the rest of him, shoebox in hand.

"What is this?" Conrad's smile fell to an angry glare. How dare these people screw with his vacation.

"Monsieur Rennet, you are not in one of your dream vacations," Arthur started, returning to the street, "we were hired to show you how vulnerable you are in the dream state." He held out the box in hand, watching as disappointment spread across Conrad's face.

"What is that?" He indicated the box.

"Something you want to keep hidden." Conrad reached out, snatching the box, opening the lid and searching through its contents, eyes widening. "How did you get this?"

"Every time you put yourself in a dream, there's always something secure that's hiding secrets we don't want others to know. And every time you're in a dream, your secrets are vulnerable to theft."

"But no one's ever stolen from my dreams before."

"At least not that you know of," Arthur said, "but your actors at the company probably don't know what to look for. Extractors, however, know just what to look for."

"How do I know you're not here to steal my secrets?" Arthur registered the reappearance of projections out of the corner of his eye, signaling the mark's increasing wariness.

"Because we wouldn't have just told you." Conrad jumped at the British accented voice to his left where John Wayne had just been standing, turning to see a man who looked completely different.

"But you…you were…." Conrad stuttered, sad to see his idol dissolve into someone else.

"John Wayne, yes," Eames said almost dismissively, not drawn in by the look of heartbreak of Conrad's face, "the actors at the dream company are only employing the same techniques to make him real."

"But, but," Conrad stuttered, "he _is_ real." The projections were starting to gather, Ariadne glancing around, growing nervous.

"No one is saying he isn't," Arthur shot Eames a glare, "but you have to understand this is just a dream. As easily as we entered it, others with more nefarious purposes can.

"We had to reach you with something you'd respond to." Ariadne quietly added. "I'm sorry we had to violate something that's so personal to you." Suddenly Conrad dropped his shoebox, pulling his gun, Arthur's hands snapping up in a half-surrendering, half-placating gesture.

"So if this is a dream, I can kill you all with no consequences and get away with it?" A shot rang out, not from Conrad, exploding the wood on the bank façade, everyone instinctively ducking.

"What the fuck?" Eames ground out, glancing to the projections, some with guns heading their way, others loading up for a shot, some aiming. Certainly not the most high octane of projection attacks, but still an attack nonetheless.

"You two go, keep them at bay." Arthur sharply said, eyes never leaving Conrad's. Another shot suddenly sounded, Ariadne's heart racing. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"What about you?" She asked on a rushed breath.

"They're after you, they'll leave me alone. Besides," he cast a seemingly casual smirk at Conrad, "we have unfinished business." Ariadne suddenly dropped to her knees, another shot exploding in the tense silence. Why were these projections such lousy shots?

"Come along," Eames said, absently extending a hand to pull her to her feet, scanning the growing crowd of projections with shotguns and rifles, "time to run."

"Keep her alive Eames." Arthur said over his shoulder.

"What?" She all but yelled back at him as Eames started dragging her down the street. The projections, surprisingly, were slow to follow.

"So you kill me, what next?" Arthur said, eyes locked to Conrad's. "I wake up, we'll leave, and you'll always wonder if I was right."

"Not if I call the police on you first! Surely this has to be against some kind of law…."

"Your father hired us. Take it up with him."

"My father?"

Eames took the first left he came to, then the next right, careful to dodge the random puddles and piles lining the street, Ariadne close on his heels. Suddenly he froze, the alley before him growing narrower until it closed off.

"A dead end," he breathed in frustration, "a bloody dead end. Where's this emergency alley that cuts through the town, hmm?"

"This is it. It doesn't close off or get too much narrower. Forced perspective. Useful if you don't need to impress anyone, but sorely lacking on structure and depth." Eames' eyes narrowed as he glanced up the alley, not sure if he could believe her. "Didn't you read the notes Arthur left for you?"

"Not really, but that's nothing new. Come on." They ducked into the nearest building, a hotel, barring the purposefully solid door before moving to the hotel front, glancing out the window. The projections were following, gathering. The window glass suddenly shattered from a bullet, a small startled scream leaving her throat. She drew back against the wall, eyes frantically searching for Eames, confusion filling her face at the black Glock pistol suddenly in his hand.

"Where did you get that?"

"The same technique I use to change my appearance can also be used on objects, a usual trick that many don't know," his voice was all business as he crouched near the broken window, letting loose a few rounds, projections dropping to the ground, "because personally, I find anything less than a semi-automatic to be rather ineffectual." Another shot whizzed through the window, smacking into the opposite wall.

"Why aren't they attacking more or shooting better? This isn't anything like any of the other dreams."

"He's never felt threatened before in a dream so he doesn't know how to respond to it. This is the best," he squeezed off a round something of a smile on his face as his target dropped, "that Conrad's subconscious can come up with."

"And this had Arthur worried enough that he told you to protect me…" She said aloud, though more to herself as she shook her head.

"Now that's a conversation I look forward to overhearing when we wake," a playful smirk came to Eames' face, "you were rather peeved when you yelled at him."

"He trained me himself. He should damn well know better."

"Well you can't fault him love," a few more shots rang from Eames' pistol, "he's just overreacting to the other night."

"It is something he would do." She agreed.

"I think he's more afraid you'll fall for your dashing knight in shining armor."

"I don't think my dreamspace is big enough for you and your ego." She deadpanned, meeting a deliciously mischievous smirk on Eames' face.

"But at least admit it, attraction—_gah_!" He jolted back, left hand rising to his head with a confused look, before drawing it back as if looking for blood. "Fucker." He raised the pistol, letting a round go.

"What the hell?" She moved to the window, mouth agape at the young boy dead on the hotel porch, bullet clean between the eyes, slingshot by his side. She turned with a scowl back to Eames, still nursing his head.

"Eames," the near outrage on her voice was not lost to him, "it was just a rock. He was just a kid."

"We're here to fend off projections. He attacked me."

"With a rock…hardly deserving of a bullet between the eyes."

"Little fucker got exactly what he deserved." She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing and even then she couldn't stop. She would never have guessed a kid with a slingshot would so easily wound his pride and set him on edge. Even as he leveled her with a glare, she couldn't stop.

"Don't make me do something we'll both regret." He suddenly said.

"We both know you won't lay a finger on me." She said at length, laughter subsiding but her amused smile remaining.

"I don't need Arthur's permission." She raised her eyebrows in questioning surprise.

"So what…you'd just take me?" She asked, a not quite challenging tone on her voice.

"No, I'd have you begging for every second and then some." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah I bet," she said dismissively, watching his eyes narrow to squeeze off another round, the projections huddling together, attempting to devise a better plan. "Doesn't the sanctity of marriage mean anything to you?"

"You're married to Arthur. That, in itself, is a caveat to break all normal rules."

"And just what—," she paused as they both listened to slow, deep tones sounding out of the sky, "dammit." She had almost forgotten she was in a dream, being attacked by lame ass projections, and apparently Arthur had concluded his business and already killed himself.

"Make it clean," she said looking up to Eames, bracing for the shot, "and we're not done talking about this."

"Oh but we are." The shot rang in her ears as the world snapped to sudden darkness.

xxx

Thanks for reading! Things are about to get adventurous…stay tuned!


	8. Reveal Part I

Onwards and upwards this story continues to go. Thanks to all who continue to read & support—it's why I keep writing. This chapter was getting way too long, and I had to break it up for my sanity, so please enjoy Part I and look for Part II early next week (I'm out of time to edit it right now)!

But it's time for Eames to stop being so well behaved…please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 8: Reveal Part I

Damage control. Arthur hadn't really been too talkative about the aftermath of the still bizarre western job except for those two words. She hadn't necessarily had to deal with Arthur the point man since they got together, but she'd forgotten how tightlipped he was on details and plans until you were on a need-to-know basis. And apparently, in this case, she—his teammate, his wife—was not on that basis. Arthur much more preferred to solve problems on his own, less loose ends and chances for human error. He said it was nothing personal, but about control, and after making her displeasure thoroughly known, she begrudgingly accepted.

10:09 pm. Arthur had said he probably wouldn't return until 1 or 2 am. And lord only knows where Eames had gone or when he'd be back. Sighing, Ariadne flopped on the couch in her pajamas—thin shorts, black cami and sweatshirt—pressing the guide button on the TV, searching for something worth watching. Anything to distract her from fuming about her husband's need for control.

She pressed a button and "Meet Joe Black" filled the flat screen before her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen it, but didn't remember being terribly impressed. This time however, she found herself unwilling to tear herself away. The story, the music, the romance. And of course Brad Pitt's shirtless chest during the sex scene. She grew still, her breathing getting heavy, a dull warmth spreading throughout her as she let her mind wander. Her eyes fell closed the more she lost herself in fantasy, the dull warmth settling with an ache between her legs. Slowly she slinked a hand down the curve of her breasts towards the growing ache, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, deciding to have a little fun and release some frustration with no one around.

"My, my what have we here?" She jumped, a g asp leaving her, remote clamoring to the floor at the suddenness of the familiar British voice. How long had he been standing behind her?

"Just some movie…" She near stumbled over the words, bending to the floor to recover the remote, her cheeks flaming.

"Mmm looks that way," Eames drawled, watching the sex on the screen unfold, human sounds silenced under gentle piano strains. "Well this is sorely disappointing—I was hoping it was some piece of x-rated fun."

"Sorry to disappoint." She righted, turning off the tv, glancing to him quickly before turning away, trying not to notice him approach the back of the couch. The smirk on his face said it all—he'd been standing there just long enough to watch and know the blush on her cheeks wasn't only from startled embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything." He started softly, a highly suggestive note on his voice mixed with something equally as serious. "Anything I can help you with in your neglectful husband's absence?" She hadn't wanted to admit to the ripple of heat in her gut at words, chancing a glance at him.

"Neglectful?"

"Well clearly if you're resorting to touching yourself in moments of quiet," she turned from him, trying to ignore the look in his eyes, the flick of his tongue over his lips, "then clearly your husband is falling down on the job." She could feel her cheeks flaming with desire and embarrassment, but turned sharply back to face him anyway, determined not to let him get the upper hand.

"I was merely going to enjoy a simple physical pleasure for the fun of it," she watched an almost surprised look come to Eames' eyes as he drew in a breath to speak, "but—," she cut him off, determined now to make him squirm, "Arthur never fails to make me come—to make me submit to the flick of his tongue or the pinch of his fingers with a whimper or a scream. And he doesn't stop until the job is done, and we're both sated and completely spent." She stretched languorously on the couch, looking up to his face, almost surprised at her confidence. His smirk had fallen to something predatory, and his eyes distantly smoldered as he forced a swallow, turning from her to the bar.

"We need shots." He started moving across the room as she sat up, confused.

"Shots?"

"Mmhmm, they do wonders for lowering inhibitions." Had she pushed him too far? He didn't think she was going to sleep with him did he? Her body was already spun up, and she wasn't sure if she could trust herself to resist his full lips, cocksure attitude and dangerous eyes.

"Eames, I—"

"Ciroc vodka? Isn't that a little feminine of him?"

"Well he does live with a woman."

"Never the matter, it's an excellent shooter, especially for those who don't like hard liquor much." She had to admit she was one but only because she hadn't had much experience with hard liquor in school. Too expensive. Most of the time it had been cheap wine or beer. She looked up in time to see Eames return from the bar, vodka bottle and shot glasses in hand. She couldn't say what—another button on his shirt undone, a hand through his hair, his suit jacket falling open more than before—but something was making him more attractive than she'd seen him before. The red alert sirens went off in the back of her mind, yet she stayed, watching him fill the glasses.

"So Arthur hasn't yet mastered bringing you both to orgasm together?" His tone was so conversational; he might as well have asked her about the weather.

"We have the rest of our lives together to achieve sexual perfection," she was almost surprised at the evenness on her voice, her cheeks still flaming, "we've only been married for a few months." He inched a shot glass over to her, his fingers such that hers brushed them as she reached for the glass.

"Well, it's a whole new experience for you both." He raised his glass. "To new experiences."

"New experiences." She met him with an uncertain nod and a raise of her own glass before knocking it back. The smooth, sweet vodka warmed its way down her throat as she coughed slightly in the aftermath. "So you have mastered it?"

"It's all a matter of timing," he set his glass down, refilling it, "it comes with experience to know the reaction a partner gives when they near orgasm."

"A partner?" She felt the warmth of the vodka spreading throughout her system, mixing with the dull throb between her legs as she set her glass down, watching him refill it. "Not necessarily a woman?"

"Not necessarily," he airily answered, his eyes rising to hers, "I don't discriminate on gender. It's all about feeling and connection with another person. Knowing you can drive another person to their wit's end with want for you—the power, the thrill and the ultimate satisfaction—can come from anyone." The last word lingered on his lips, his tongue darting out them as he raised the shot glass, a wave of heat surging through her. She suddenly wanted to know what that tongue felt like on her lips, or somewhere else desperately in need of attention.

"So what's this one too?" He noticed the tremor on her voice, watching her shift her legs on the couch, creating friction through her shorts where he knew she wanted it most. His own, uncomfortable strain was starting to grow and god, what he wouldn't give to just fuck her and satisfy them both.

"Self-control." A wicked, sexy smirk curved about his face, forcing a sigh from her as she rose the shot glass to her lips. The vodka warmed his throat, quickly swallowing and leveling his eyes with hers. Oh the games they could play.

"God, um, I think I should go to bed." Ariadne stuttered, her mind hazing over from the shots. She usually wasn't a drinker, and really she wanted nothing more than to relieve the incessant ache.

"Don't you think my help would make for a more satisfying experience?" His voice was low, almost rough, inviting. She looked up at him, almost ashamed with herself for seriously considering his offer.

"Fuck, Eames…I don't know," he tightened against his pants at her unexpected use of the swear word, "I don't know if I can trust myself right now to say no."

"Oh there's all sorts of innocent, tantalizing fun that can be had without officially cheating."

"Somehow I don't think innocent and tantalizing belong in the same sentence."

"What's say we up the ante from our shots here to body shots, hm?" A mischievous light flickered deep in his eyes.

"Body shots?"

"You do know what they are, right?

"Of course." She met his eyes, a knowing light coming to his eyes as she felt her cheeks flame.

"But you've never done one?" She turned from him, fighting back an embarrassed smile. "I think we have our answer." She watched him rise from the couch, moving back to the bar. "If I know Arthur like I think I do," and who was he kidding, he knew Arthur quite intimately, "there's bound to be limes around here somewhere." He dropped out of sight behind the bar to rummage through the fridge.

"Eames, please…it's not really necessary."

"Of course it's necessary. We're both fine specimens for body shots, and Arthur's stick is too far up his ass to ever show you something like this." He loved the man dearly, and secretly wanted nothing more than to shake up the permanent control he held over his life. He was sure Ariadne was nicer to him though.

She watched with a surprising mix of nervousness and excitement as he returned with a tequila bottle, sliced limes and salt shaker. She moved her legs around, relishing the slight brush of cloth against her skin as she watched him sit next to her on the couch, shedding his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his maroon dress shirt up to his elbows, revealing solid forearms.

"Alright, that sweatshirt has to go." His voice was liquid heat to her hazy mind.

"My sweatshirt?" She raised a hand to idly pick at it.

"How else am I supposed to drink tequila from your navel?" He simply asked, his voice low, hearing her slight intake of breath. Numbly she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, revealing the black cami she wore beneath. He couldn't stop his eyes from raking over her chest, small though it was.

"Lay down….I thought you knew what a body shot was." She cast him a defensive glare as she attempted to lay down, finding him in the way.

"I know what they are…I'm just not sure of the mechanics." She inched back on the couch cushions, planting her feet on the couch and bending her knees, rather than spreading out over him. He leaned forward to look around her knees, at her scrunched position, a disapproving look on his face.

"Well that's not going to work." Without warning he reached out and grabbed the back of her shin, straightening her leg out, draping it over his lap, the other one following. She slumped down against the cushions with the sudden movement, laying flat on her back, his hands lingering lazily on the smooth skin of her legs, sending bolts of want straight up her body. She hadn't figured him to have such smooth, calloused hands. Suddenly she felt a hand at the edge of her cami, inching it up, instantly jolting her out of her haze to meet his eyes with a panicked look.

"Eames, I can't." He smiled a placating, honest smile.

"Ariadne, my aim is not to make you uncomfortable or break your vows to Arthur. Life is full of experiences and sensations, and I'm simply trying to help you experience something new."

"But I don't trust myself when I'm drunk to make good decisions."

"Well I'm not drunk and I won't let you do something you'd regret."

"How do you know what I'd regret?"

"Because so much as one hesitation from your lips, or uncertainty in your eyes, and I'll stop." She looked up at him skeptically. "I have no intentions of fucking you, however much I may want to. I'm more loyal to you and Arthur than that. I'm simply interested in having some fun, engaging in a simple physical pleasure…as you put it." She recalled her earlier words, almost regretting belittling it to something so trite. She let her hand fall away, nodding her head. "Your shirt only need go up as far as you're comfortable." The night air mixed with warmth from his close body hit her stomach as he continued to expose it, stopping a couple inches below her bust line. His eyes never left hers, a strangely arousing mix of honesty and mischievousness in their depths.

He placed a hand on either side of her on the couch, bending over her, lowering his face to let his tongue run down the middle of her stomach towards her belly button. She gasped against the hot, wet touch of his tongue, her back slightly arching, dampness seeping between her legs. He relished in her faint taste of soap, fighting against his own erection as he reached for the salt on the table, raising his head to sprinkle salt over the wet trail he left behind.

"And this is for you." She watched him hand her a lime, confusion on her face.

"And what do I—"

"Well, if you're feeling adventurous, the lime goes between your teeth. Also just as effective and easier though, is to hold it in your hand." God his accent was sounding smoother and sexier with each word, or was it the vodka haze? She couldn't be sure.

"I think for this one, I'll keep it in my hand. No offense." She bit her lip on the last words, realizing how almost childish that sounded. She figured she had to be at least ten years younger than Eames, and yet had always found him attractive, and now sexy as hell.

"None taken." He smiled a little smile, moving a full shot glass of tequila to hover over her stomach. "This may be cold." A little meep escaped her throat as the cool liquid pooled in her naval and the slight cavity of her stomach. He looked up to meet her eyes with the sexiest smirk she'd yet seen, watching him slowly lower back to within a tongue's length of her stomach, eyes never leaving hers. She would so have to change underwear before going to bed.

"Here we go." He whispered softly, his breath hot against her skin. His tongue descended, retracing his earlier trail, licking up the salt as he worked his way towards her navel. The touch of his tongue was making her heart race more than she'd like, a slight gasp escaping her as he took to lapping up the bitter alcohol, gently tickling her skin. Suddenly he pulled back, leaning forward, chest brushing hers to reach the lime in her hand. He bit down, sucking hard, relishing in the flavor combination. He pulled back, a satisfied smile on his face, wiping a stray drop from his face as he looked to her eyes. He stilled at seeing the heavy want in their chocolate depths, knowing they were both toying a very fine line. If she were to pull him to her lips, it would only be mere minutes before he buried himself deep within her. And this was the wife of his secret love. Could he fuck things up more if he tried?

"There was that so bad?" He asked playfully, watching a smile come to her face.

"No, enjoyable really. You're quite good."

"Practice makes perfect." He righted himself, taking the used lime from her hands. "Your turn."

"Me?...like do you?"

"Well if you want to do me, I wouldn't be opposed, but that would probably cross a line you don't want to." Her cheeks instantly burned at his insinuation.

"I meant me do a body shot off you…get your mind out of the gutter."

"That is damn near impossible sometimes." He reached for the hem of his dress shirt, pulling it free, starting to undo the buttons. She shimmied backwards, propping herself up against the cushions, pulling her legs from his lap, slightly sad to rid of his body heat. She knew she shouldn't be staring quite so blatantly at his increasingly exposed chest, but found herself unable to look away. She blamed the liquor. He shifted on the couch, stretching his long body out, draping his legs on the back cushions behind her, his torso splayed out next to her as she sat up watching him pull his shirt aside to reveal smooth, tattooed defined muscles. Absently she reached for the tequila bottle.

"That's the last step," he said as though teacher to her student, "my stomach moves as I breathe, so if your pour it first, chances are it will have spilled out onto the couch by the time you're ready."

"So first then is the salt trail?"

"Yes. You can just suck the salt from your hand if you'd rather not trace it from me." The honesty was back in his eyes and she knew he was simply just trying to enjoy the experience without pushing her to do anything she didn't want to do. Well fuck him, she didn't need him to treat her like a child.

"I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed Mr. Eames, but I don't like to be outdone." She shifted on the couch to place her hands on either side of him, sliding closer to reach his torso, a delicious wave of spice and distant smoke hitting her nose, making her want to drink him in further. The wicked smile on her face was doing nothing to curb the ever increasing strain on his pants as she lowered to trace a similar trail from just below the ribcage to the top of his naval. Even he had to work to keep his breathing even at the light, gentle touches of her tongue, feeling her reach to sprinkle some salt in its wake. He reached for a lime on the edge of the table, holding it poised in his hand, catching the silent, appreciative look on her face as she filled a shot glass, pouring it on his stomach. She breathed deep, lowering herself back down.

"Here goes." Her tongue, hot and eager traced down the trail of salt, making his breath catch in his throat as it settled on his naval, lapping up the liquor. She felt his hips slightly move as she licked the last bits of tequila, looking for his hand with the lime. Quickly she bit down, sucking in the juice, swallowing as she pulled back, licking her lips.

"Mmm, that was messier than I expected." An intoxicating laugh rumbled in his chest, and she couldn't help but smile. She stared down at him, watching the world before her eyes start to slowly swirl. Lord only knows what would happen if she had another shot.

"You'll get better with each one." Effortlessly, he bent at the waist, her eyes drawn to the bend and curve of his muscles as he sat up. Her eyes were so dark with desire, he could barely stand to look at them. His hands fell about her waist, pushing her back to a reclining position as he swung his legs back down, shirt hanging open between them.

"Again?" She asked, watching him bend to lick a salt trail.

"Each one gets progressively better."

"Shit..." She laughed the word, raising a hand to her forehead. "I don't need to do another one…the world is already starting to spin."

"Then lay back and enjoy." She focused on the lime he now held in front of her face, taking it gingerly from him, enjoying the brush against his fingers a little more than she should have. She studied it in her fingers, torn what to do with it as she felt him pour the tequila in her naval, his tongue descending to lick the salt. Fuck it.

His hand drifted absently to her hip as he lapped the tequila, feeling the slim lines of her fingers wrap around his arm as he braced himself. He raised his head, looking for the lime. _Oh fuck_. It was in her mouth. He pulled himself up her body, desperate to maintain control as he lowered, his nose brushing hers. His breath rushed past her cheek as his mouth closed around the lime , sucking out every last drop, careful to keep his lips just out of reach. Suddenly she let go the lime, lost in the heat and haze, crashing her lips against his, tasting tequila, salt and lime. He devoured her, the eagerness of her lips, tongue, hands urging him to slide up her body until they fit perfectly together, bare stomachs pressed together. She moaned into his mouth, feeling his hard want so firmly against her soaking center. Her hands tugged at his open shirt, drifting across muscled skin, dancing dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.

"Ariadne…no, stop." He forced the words out against her lips, forcing himself to stop and breathe. She relented, opening her eyes, seeing those of Eames and not her husband, instantly freezing. They stilled, laying together, each trying to catch their breath and come back to reality.

"Shit…oh shit, I'm sorry. Oh god." Ariadne raised a hand to her head, mind spinning at the implication of what she'd just done. That was it—she'd crossed the line. How would or could she ever tell Arthur?

"You haven't done anything. It was an honest mistake." Eames rose off her, to a sitting position, coming back to his own senses. Her hand fell from her head to her chest, swallowing hard, hoping to still her rushing heart.

"I don't know I….whoa—." She sat up, wishing she hadn't as things before her eyes started spinning. Eames, buttoning up his shirt most of the way, watched her unfocused eyes dart around as she swayed in her sitting position.

"I didn't realize you were such a lightweight." She absently reached a hand out as though to steady herself, feeling his strong hands wrap around her arm, pulling her close to him. He settled back against the couch, bringing her to rest against him such that her back lay against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his right shoulder.

"God, my head." She mumbled against him.

"Close your eyes then," he whispered almost comfortingly, kissing her forehead, "you're alright."

She stilled in his arms and Eames fought back a yawn of his own, pleasantly content with a slight buzz. He wondered how much longer until Arthur got home. This time an explanation was most definitely required.

X

Arthur could see part of Eames' face over the back cushion on the sofa, silently wondering why the man had passed out there. He shed his coat and bag near the door, fighting back a yawn as he neared the couch, brows furrowing when he saw his bedroom door open. Ariadne wasn't in there?

He rounded the couch, surprise cutting through his sleepy haze at the sight before him. Vodka and tequila bottles on the table, shot glasses, a few lime wedges, and Ariadne passed out in her pajamas, curled against Eames' chest. The man in question looked up at Arthur with something of an innocent smile, almost wanting to laugh at the utter look of confusion on the point man's face.

"Eames? What happened here?" Eames almost marveled at the calm, controlled edge to Arthur's voice, contradicting the look on his face.

"We didn't fuck, however much we may have wanted to."

"I know you're smarter than that."

"It was nothing more than a few body shots, ending in much enjoyed, though genuinely regretted, hot and heavy snogging." Eames watched Arthur's eyes narrow. "She'd never done a body shot before, and I knew you'd never teach her." Arthur looked away annoyed, shaking his head.

"Did you get her on the life experiences talk?"

"You know firsthand how well it works and true it is." The smirk on Eames face told the whole story, and dammit if a faint blush didn't creep to Arthur's cheeks as memories flooded back to him. Eames watched the other man's eyes grow distant, memories of their shared night surely returning to him. Scarcely had Eames seen Arthur looking better than he did now in simple slim fitting khaki slacks and a white, faintly striped, button-down shirt. He couldn't help but smile up at him.

"How many did you do to get her so wasted?" Arthur asked at length.

"She only did one—"

"One?"

"Well we did some shots before that, hence your Ciroc." Eames nodded to the vodka on the table.

"And what prompted all this?"

"I came home and found dear Ariadne here about to pleasure herself, and it was all too easy to have fun with it." Eames watched Arthur's face scrunch in confusion.

"How can you be sure?"

"You can't tell when a woman's aroused?" Arthur looked away, biting his lip in annoyance, knowing the other man knew damn well that wasn't what he meant.

"So who put a stop to things?" He asked a length.

"I did. She admitted to not making good decisions when she's drunk, and I promised her I wouldn't let her." Arthur looked at him skeptically. "I'm not worth breaking her wedding vows over."

"There's still a self-serving edge to this thing Eames," Arthur moved towards the couch, "I know you wouldn't fuck her because I know how you feel about me. And you're smart enough to know screwing up my marriage wouldn't win you any favors."

"Well of course that was part of it." Eames honestly admitted, watching Arthur shake his head. "You can't honestly tell me you feel nothing different since that night."

"I need to get her, and me to bed, Eames." Arthur inched between the coffee table to sit on the exposed couch cushion next to Ariadne, his knee brushing Eames' thigh.

"You can't can you?" Eames simply said, watching Arthur's hands move to brush a stray hair from Ariadne's face with heavy eyes. "Why do this to yourself love?"

"Because I don't want you. The one I want is currently in your arms."

"The one you want?"

"She's consumed my thoughts as you never have. Made me only want to see the spark in her eyes first thing every morning, know every inch of her, every thought." Arthur's eyes were fixed on Ariadne, Eames registering the truth in his voice, yet knowing from his tone the words that came next.

"Yet you feel more for me than you would like." He finished softly, watching Arthur's eyes sink momentarily closed as though composing himself.

"You've already had one Darren under your spell tonight…it won't happen again." Even Arthur knew the tone of his voice didn't support his words as memories of the night he let himself fall victim to Eames' words played teasingly in his mind, not helped when Eames' hand fell against his thigh.

"It's not a spell; it's a zest for life. Imagine if you'd been here how it could have gone—my hands on you," his hand started inching up Arthur's thigh, "your hands on her…each getting what we want." Arthur swallowed hard.

"Sounds like quite a fantasy, and that's how it's going to stay." Arthur's eyes rose from his wife, involuntarily settling on Eames' lips, belying the resolve on his voice. Eames slowly, steadily leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, pressing his lips to Arthur's, unwilling to let the moment go. Again he moved his lips against the younger man's, drawing a sharp breath at feeling the kiss returned. Slowly, tentatively they kissed, remembering a touch long forgotten. Eames absently rose a hand to Arthur's cheek, feeling the rough bit of stubble from the day. Arthur's mouth opened ever so slightly at the touch, Eames pushing his tongue forward to meet Arthur's, stiffening to full attention at the greedy touches, feeling Arthur's free hand wrap around his extended arm in a longing hold.

"God Arthur." He mumbled against the other man's lips, lowering his hand from Arthur's cheek, taking Arthur's hand from his arm and moving it to the bulge in his slacks, sighing deeply at the touch of the other man's fingertips.

"You think you're the only one?" Arthur's voice came out a breathy whisper, turning his hand to grasp Eames', moving it to his own hard length. Eames' eyes fell closed, fighting for control as his fingers brushed over pure temptation, hungrily meeting Arthur's lips in lieu of an answer.

"Let me," he breathed through the kiss, "let go and let me really touch you."

"You dissuade my wife from breaking her vows, yet beg me to break mine?"

"I don't love her Arthur. She'd break them for a one night thrill. You break them, and I'll never let you go." He tightened his grip on Arthur, moving up with hard purpose.

"Fuck Eames," Arthur hissed, his voice a whispered moan, feeling the other man's lips trail to his neck, "I've made my choice. I'm happy with it."

"Then why are you letting me kiss and touch you?" He emphasized his words with another hard stroke and nibble on the neck, never wanting to forget the small sound from Arthur's throat.

"Just because I'm married doesn't mean I stop feeling attraction."

"Just love?"

"You know I've never felt about you the way you want me to." Eames' lips fell against Arthur's, an unspoken goodbye passing as Eames' hand rose to cup Arthur's face one last time. Slowly, Arthur pulled back, breathing deep, attempting to come back to himself. His gaze fell to a still sleeping Ariadne with something of a small, maybe sad smile. Eames couldn't be sure.

"Well I should—we should…go to bed." Arthur finished lamely, turning from Eames to gingerly lift Ariadne from against Eames' shoulder and pull her into his arms.

"Goodnight Arthur. I hope you sleep well, and she's not too hung over in the morning."

"Thanks Eames. You too." Arthur gave Eames a quick nod before heading for the bedroom, door closing softly behind him.

xxx

A dear fellow creative soul implored me to do justice to Arthur & Eames' "relationship" and give them some action with the emotional pull. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint.

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for Part II...a bomb is dropped…


	9. Reveal Part II

As promised for you lovely readers, Part II! Thanks to all who review and subscribe for alerts (glad you're enjoying the story)—sadly time keeps me from being a regularly active participant on this site, so I really do appreciate those I hear from.

And yes, I did update the summary since this story has more of a direction now (or should I change it back?).

Hope you enjoy! (and early Happy Halloween!)

xxx

Chapter 9: Reveal Part II

A bitter taste filled her mouth as her eyes opened to darkness, moving her head slightly on the pillow.

"Oh crap…" She breathed deep, rolling face-first in her pillow, her head feeling like it could explode at the slight movement. A gentle hand fell to her back and she turned, squinting in the faint light, thunder pounding in the back of her head. She suddenly felt like crying when she met Arthur's small, drowsy smile.

"Hey," his voice was low, soft, "you should sit up, drink some water. It will help."

"Do I have to? I feel like crap." She mumbled as she rolled over onto her back, grimacing as a bedside light switched on, agitating her head. On top of being hung-over, how could she possibly tell him what happened with Eames?

"Yeah, come on love, you'll be glad for it in the morning." Slowly she propped herself up on an elbow, feeling Arthur's arm wrap around hers supportively as she took a glass from him in her other hand. Eagerly she drank, enjoying the cool chill of the liquid in her dry, tequila flavored mouth. She handed back the empty glass, not sure what to say next, but knowing what needed to be said.

"Arthur, I….—god, I have to tell—"

"I know," he simply said, hating the distressed look on her face, placing the glass back on the table. "Eames told me everything when I came home and found you on the couch curled up with him."

"Everything…? About the…body shots and making out?" Arthur nodded silently watching her eyes sink closed, head falling in shame. "How can you still want me here?" He reached out to hold her close, drawing her to lie against him as he shifted back to sit against the headboard.

"How could I not want you here? I know it was an honest mistake—Eames is a master of people. He's smart enough to figure out what they want or what's going on in their mind, and use that to get a reaction or what he wants. It makes him a hell of an effective forger, but damn near impossible to be around otherwise."

"I'm so sorry Arthur. I didn't mean for things to get so carried away." He tightened his hold on her, feeling her hand come to rest against his chest as she snuggled into his shoulder. He fought back a sigh, knowing he was no better.

"You're alright—it's ok." He whispered comfortingly, placing a kiss on her brow. She pulled herself up, fighting the throbbing in her head, to place a soft kiss on his neck, and another. Something eerily familiar reached her nose. She breathed deep, the smell that had been intoxicating to her earlier filling her senses.

"You smell like him." She mumbled sleepily against his neck.

"You remember what he smells like?" Even he couldn't believe his words.

"Mmmhmm, his didn't help the situation—a spice, smoke…."

"I'll have to keep that in mind."

"You still haven't answered the question." He paused, not sure she had actually asked a question, but knowing the implied question was why.

"The answer is important enough that you deserve to hear it in a more awake state."

"Really? I mean, come on, it's not like you made out with him too…." She noticed his body tense ever so slightly, her eyes widening as no response came. "Arthur?" Gingerly she eased from his shoulder to look him in the eye, seeing something she'd never before seen. "You didn't, did you?"

"I won't lie to you—I did tonight, I did four years ago." She swore a faint blush crept to his cheeks. "You'll see an eerily similar pattern—he was staying here, convinced me to go out drinking, and somehow got us back here—drunkest I'd been since college. He gave me the same line—a new life experience—and before long, we fell into bed together." Arthur shook his head gently as though just understanding the whole situation. "But since that night he's made it known he wants nothing more than for him and me to become something real. I've never once returned that level of feeling for him." Ariadne sat almost stunned. But somewhere, deep down, she couldn't honestly say she was surprised. There was always just something a little too personal in their banter and in Eames' pet names.

"So…he means it when he calls you 'darling ' and 'love' and any of those other pet names?"

"His own little private joke on the world, he told me once."

"But that makes so much sense. There's just always been something more to you two that I couldn't put my finger on." She looked at him with a curious little smile as though seeing him in a new light. "So you two 'fell into bed together?' That's a lame poetic, G-rated answer. Surely there's juicy details—did he go down on you or you on him?" She had to ask. She still almost couldn't believe Arthur had let Eames seduce him.

"Little of both."

"I would never have figured you as bi." A hint of disgust flashed in his tired eyes.

"I don't prefer a label. Eames is, truthfully, the only man I have ever considered."

"I think you did a little more than just consider him, Arthur. You slept with him." She settled back against his shoulder, loving the relief it brought to her throbbing head, feeling his arm tighten around her. "So you had the all out gall to kiss him tonight while I lay passed out in his arms?

"He kissed me…like I told him, just because I'm married doesn't mean I stop feeling attraction."

"You allowed him to kiss you then, while I lay there passed out?"

"I won't apologize for it."

"You don't regret it?"

"No. Do you regret making out with him?"

"No…at the time, it's what I wanted."

"But not long term." She nodded in agreement against his shoulder, tilting her head to look up at him with a drowsy smile and yawn, ready to be rid of the hammering in her head. "Does this make us a bad couple—that we recognize our attraction to others, act on it, and are so quick to come back and forgive each other?"

"No," the surety on his voice made her want to melt, "I have what I want right here with me, come what may." He turned his head, lowering it to meet her lips in a kiss that spoke more than words. She raised a hand to his face, holding him to her lips, loving him all the more. "You really should sleep now love." He whispered softly, placing a kiss to her brow, reaching over to the switch off the light. "Tomorrow night I'll prove to you I'm every inch the man Eames is and then some—and I know, I've see it." She outburst laugh, lightly slapping his chest.

"Oh god, Arthur."She sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace . "Don't say that again." A laugh rumbled in his chest, holding her tight as she relaxed into him. Sure, her desire for Eames may have been a white hot flame easily quenched, but here in Arthur's arms was a smoldering contentment that would never go out.

xxx

She'd never found the kitchen chairs particularly comfortable, but this morning she wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere. The steaming mug of tea on the table was soothing to her senses as she breathed deep the fine aroma.

"Hot enough for you?" She looked up at Arthur's voice to where he stood at the kitchen counter.

"Yes, thank you." She said softly, squinting as she glanced about the bright room, eyes drifting back to Arthur. She still marveled at his catlike grace as he seamlessly moved between making oatmeal, toasting cinnamon bread, brewing coffee. And damn he looked better than ever to her hungover eyes in two out of three pieces of a signature suit cut so perfectly to his every curve. She could just watch him move all day.

"See something you like?" Slowly her eyes moved up his body focusing to his face, fighting back an embarrassed blush at the slight knowing smile on his face.

"Maybe." She said dopily.

"You're cute when you stare." He turned from her to pour a mug of coffee, loving her little laugh, turning with a smile as Eames entered the kitchen, looking his usual self. "Good morning. Coffee?"

"Perhaps in a minute, you go on." Eames said casually glancing about as Arthur moved to the kitchen table with coffee. Ariadne sipped her tea, watching Arthur sort through sections of the paper before returning to the counter to retrieve his toast and oatmeal. Eames skirted around him, mug and toast in hand, moving towards the kitchen table. "And look at you," he said amiably, watching her fuzzy eyes rise to his, "you don't look too bad." A guffaw escaped her throat.

"And you're…charming as always." A yawn hinged on the end of her words as Arthur joined them at the table.

"Why are you up so early anyway?" Eames asked.

"It's his fault." She inclined her head towards Arthur.

"Yes," Eames agreed, fishing through the newspaper sections after Arthur retrieved the section he wanted, "he is quite the slave driver." He pulled the paper free, placing it in front of him, a peaceable silence falling as the two men ate and read, and she sipped her hot tea. This was almost too weird. It was damn near the perfect picture of domestic tranquility, and not twenty fours ago she'd been wasted and making out with the man not her husband, who then proceeded to make out with her husband.

"Shouldn't things be more awkward than this?" She had to ask. "I mean, we've all made out with each other in the last twenty four hours."

"Probably," Eames said casually, not looking up from the paper, "thank god it's not."

"It'd be your fault if it was." Arthur said, casting Eames a sideways glance.

"So you told her." Eames said, not so much a question and more a statement.

"She more asked and figured it out." Arthur said, turning back to the paper taking a bite of toast.

"What tipped you off?" Eames turned to Ariadne.

"He smelled like you."

"You remember what I smell like?"

"That's what he said," she said almost in disbelief, "I don't get it. You both wear cologne and yet it seems to surprise you both that I remember it for its alluring qualities." She shook her head as neither man answered, a slight flush creeping to Arthur's cheeks. "So how did it happen with you two? I got a pretty glossy last night." This caught both of their attentions, Arthur's head slightly rising, Eames' eyes moving from the paper. Something of a smirk came to Eames' face as he glanced to Arthur who glared silent daggers back.

"Well Arthur's love of fine bourbon is easily exploited by a quick hand. If you never let a glass empty below a certain point, it's easy to keep switching them out for fuller glasses—"

"He purposely got me drunk, to make a long story short." Arthur cut in.

"You weren't as drunk as you like to let on—surely you can admit it now," Eames countered, turning to Ariadne. "Taxi ride back, he dozed off, originally back against the headrest, but eventually rolled over to my shoulder, pure temptation."

"I don't remember that." Arthur added, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Eames.

"Of course not darling, remember, you had dozed off."

"So you took advantage of him in his sleep?" Ariadne ventured curiously as Eames turned back.

"Not at all. Woke him up when the taxi pulled up and he walked to the elevator, leaned heavily against the railing as I recall, but carried himself all the way back here. Tripped over my feet as I sat on the couch, right darling? And then…." He turned to Arthur with something of a sly look as if remembering every detail, waiting for the point man to finish his oatmeal and take over.

"And then…," Ariadne watched with a small smile as the color returned to Arthur's cheeks as he spoke, "he kissed me and didn't stop."

"You never asked me to darling." Eames shot Arthur a charming smile watching the corners of Arthur's mouth turn in a barely noticeable smile. Ariadne couldn't help the little smile on her face. In a different setting, they would have made a cute, though volatile, couple. But Eames would have a hell of a fight on his hands if he tried to steal Arthur from her now.

"Well I'm impressed," Ariadne said looking to Eames, "you talk about it remarkably well," her eyes settled on Arthur, smile widening, "both of you."

"It cuts deeper than you know." Eames said softly, not looking at either as he finished his coffee. She turned from Arthur's eyes, yawning and stretching in her chair, finishing the rest of her tea.

"Well I think I'll go for a shower." She said lazily.

"Alright. Leave your mug, I'll get it." Arthur said, reclining back in the chair to enjoy the last drinks of his coffee.

"Thanks." She uncurled her legs out from underneath her, stretching to wake up and shake off the hangover. A steady vibrating buzz sounded in the silence, eyes settling on Eames as he reached for his pocket, face unreadable as he retrieved his phone.

"Excuse me please." He said quickly, rising and moving for the guest room, closing the door behind him. Ariadne shrugged it off, rising and moving around the table, running a hand through her hair. Arthur's hand shot out, grabbing her free hand, attempting to draw her close.

"Come here." He near whispered, eyes intent on her as she stepped closer to him, a hand falling to his shoulder. He craned upwards, meeting her halfway in a slow, near teasing kiss, tasting the coffee roast on his tongue in fleeting touches, her hand running gently through his hair. "Enjoy your shower love." He whispered against her lips.

"Mmmm," she near purred, "too bad you're already dressed, or I'd ask you to join me." She nipped his lip quickly, jumping back before he could pull her back watching his eyes narrow in a playful smirk.

"Don't forget what I promised you last night." He called out after her as she strolled away, watching her wave a dismissive hand.

"You can claim it all you want, but you'll never have proof." He debated about answering as she rounded the bedroom door, but thought better of it. Eames was on the phone after all. Arthur rose, heading for the counter to pour himself a half cup of coffee. Quietly he returned to the table, fishing through other newspaper sections, content to sit in the silence and read with the occasional sip of coffee. He had several job offers in front of him, and hadn't yet confirmed with anyone. This afternoon would consist of determining the best job in terms of risk and reward, but for now, the peaceful morning was suiting him just fine.

He couldn't be sure exactly just how much time had passed when he heard the opening of the guest bedroom door, footsteps shuffling in the foyer accented by the drop of a heavy bag. Arthur turned curiously, to see Eames returning from the foyer, his face drawn, blank.

"Eames?" He called softly watching the other man swallow hard and look around as though searching for words.

"I need to leave soon."

"Why the sudden hurry?" Arthur asked conversationally as he rose, moving for the counter to set his coffee mug down.

"I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you." The remorse on his voice was lost to Arthur whose gaze narrowed as he turned around to face Eames.

"Honest about what?" Eames knew that tone—the cold, serious tone of the point man.

"Cobol Engineering found me—knew me from Cobb's visit," Arthur stilled at the name, "might say they were waiting for me on my return to Mombasa after the Fisher job. Simply put, they want you and Cobb dead."

"The Fischer job was two years ago. Why now suddenly?"

"Only so long I can keep lying before the own up on their threats." Something of an amused smile ghosted across Eames' face before disappearing.

"Convenient lie," Arthur spat, "given our past, you knew I would believe it."

"It wasn't entirely a lie. Cobol has threatened to hand my person over for appendage removal as payment of said debts, and as I've witnessed them demonstrate their power, I'm inclined to oblige them."

"At least after everything," memories flashed in Arthur's mind, lips curling in a snarl "you're telling me your betrayal to my face."

"If I intended to lead them to you, I would have done so already. But you should get out of Paris." He reached into his suit jacket, fishing out a card that Arthur immediately recognized. "It won't be long before word of an Arthur Trent, specializing in dream security with an office based in Paris reaches Cobol's ears. They'll be smart enough to fit the pieces together and come looking for you."

"You don't have to do this."

"Survival is a remarkable instinct, as I'm sure you well know. If I'm not looking out for me, no one is."

"And where does that leave me? Uprooting my life—my wife—and running around the globe so you can sit back on your ass."

"God, you weren't supposed to have her…make this harder," Eames's head slightly dipped, "don't take her with you. Lie, disappear—go find Cobb. Cobol knows him by name." Arthur's eyes sunk closed, forcing a hard swallow.

"Which means they're after an Arthur Chambers, correct?"

"Exactly. So I'd drop that alias if you haven't already." Arthur's eyes opened, glancing from Eames' to the window, silently calculating, mulling everything over.

"What exactly have you told them?" Arthur fought to keep his voice even and restrain himself from strangling the other man.

"Nothing yet. They think I'm out on a job, but they expect something, anything, when I return. I intend to give them your so-called business card, telling them I heard about this Arthur Trent and suggest it might be the same man." Arthur crossed his arms, thinking over the Brit's plan. "So they'll run around Paris chasing a ghost, and knowing you, they'll reach a dead end. Hopefully by that time I can think of some other way to stall them."

"They won't find anything on Trent. It won't take them long to realize that."

"They don't know you as a Darren."

"Few do." Arthur's eyes returned to Eames, a silent understanding passing between them.

"I'd leave today, now." Eames said. "Not that you need to be told this—I know you know what to do better than myself. Just don't drag Ariadne along. You know what it's like."

"I just won't leave her."

"And if she gets hurt?"

"I won't let that happen." Eames was almost jealous of the raw conviction on Arthur's voice.

"Sometimes it can't be stopped." Eames sighed lightly shaking his head. "I'll do what I can to keep you informed of their movements, but no guarantees." Arthur stepped forward to the counter, scribbling a quick note.

"Ariadne's cell number," Arthur returned, extending the note to Eames. "Memorize it, burn it, don't store it. Our correspondence will be through her. Too many loose ends with my number. If they've gotten to Cobb, they have my number."

"Cobb knows you as Arthur Darren doesn't he?" Eames suddenly asked.

"In his mind, yes. On paper, I'm not sure."

"Then you better start packing." Eames turned from Arthur moving back to the foyer, Arthur following.

"Just one thing though," Arthur's face slightly softened, coming to stand next to Eames, who turned, suitcase in hand, "why'd you wait so long to tell me?"

"I had every intention of telling you until I saw Ariadne. I couldn't spoil your first Christmas together."

"And then you helped us finish up the job only so we could get out faster."

"You're not the only one with the ability to plan ahead darling." Eames cracked a small smile, eyes moving over Arthur's face as though memorizing it. "Take care of yourself, and Ariadne."

"I'd wish you the same, but it's already self-evident. We'll be in touch."

"Always." Eames turned without a second glance, opening the door and closing it quietly behind him, the now unsettling silence of the apartment returning. Arthur's eyes sunk closed in frustration and dread. Despite his ability to handle situations, he still marveled how fast things could fall to pieces. How even the best laid plans so could rapidly fail, and soundly constructed dreams collapse around him

He abruptly turned on his heels, moving for the office, snatching up his laptop and other assorted papers, a stack growing on the desk edge. He faintly registered the sound of the blow-dryer turning off in their bedroom as he moved about the apartment, closing curtains, choosing his words carefully for Ariadne.

"What are you doing?" Her voice suddenly reached his ears, softly curious.

"Eames just left."

"Oh no, he didn't mention he was leaving at breakfast. It wasn't because of last night or this morning, was it? I'm sorry I didn't get to tell him goodbye,"

"His leaving was sudden and not very pleasant—he told me the real reason he came here. An employer from a previous job is after me and Cobb. As such I, at least, can't stay here right now."

"After you…and Cobb?" Her face hardened with worry. "What did you do?"

"The job didn't go as planned, and Cobol Engineering is out to see us dead. They don't know me by name, but they know Cobb."

"Oh god." He brushed past her into the bedroom. "Where will we go?"

"Anywhere but here for starters. Eames is going to turn in the business card of our latest work endeavor, effectively killing yet another alias, so I can't stay in Paris."

"Well I'm not staying behind." She followed him in the bedroom, prepared to fight him on it.

"I didn't expect to stop you. But it would be easier without you."

"But you promised for better or worse," she leveled him with her eyes, "and if this is worse, then there's no way in hell you're getting rid of me.

"My kind of wife."

"So what do I need to do?" Suddenly she felt lost. She didn't know the first place to start.

"Pack—lightly, only what you feel you must take." He fished a black shoulder bag out of his closet, starting to fill it. She moved to her own closet, mind slightly numb as she pulled down her black Swiss backpack. Her parents got it for her when she started college and she hadn't carried it much, but it was the biggest, easiest transportable bag she had. Immediately she started grabbing clothes, stuffing them in.

"How long will we be gone?" She called over her shoulder.

"As long as it takes." She fought to keep the fear welling in her at bay. This Arthur wasn't the one who would hold her and ebb her worries. She could only hope there would be plenty of time on the airplane for that. She moved from the closet, setting her backpack on the bed, watching Arthur move towards the bed with a familiar mahogany case.

She moved to the dresser, searching the top drawer, retrieving and handing him the little lockbox key. Swiftly he opened the case, the gleaming black metal of two Sig P-226-NAVY pistols catching her eye. She had asked him once how he came about owning two standard issue Navy Seal pistols, and he had simply replied with a dark smirk that they were from a previous job. She figured they were stolen, but only because she couldn't quite picture Arthur killing two Navy Seals. Not that she'd put it past him though.

"We probably can't fly with those, you know." She said casually, stuffing a jacket in her backpack.

"I know we can't. We'll ship them, meet up with them stateside."

"Won't that seem suspicious shipping just two guns?"

"I have a contact from previous jobs."

"Is it safe to trust your contacts at this point?"

"Very few know who I actually am. Most can be trusted." He lifted the guns out of their tray, handing one to her. Deftly she took it, hefting it in her hand, remembering the feel of the weight, memories of all their trips to the practice range coming back to her. In their years together, Arthur had seen to it she improved her skill and accuracy with a pistol. Even she had been impressed how well she'd taken to it. She looked it over, just as pristine and clean as when she had last used it, running her fingers over the Navy anchor emblem imprinted in the metal. She looked up again, confusion filling her eyes as she noticed the tray out of the case, and Arthur rifling through a stack of passports.

"Holy crap," she said, with a sigh, "how many of those do you have?"

"Enough. Here are yours." He handed her a small stack, watching her eyes grow wider.

"Oh my god…you really don't waste time to you." She opened the top passport. Grace Williams. The second one, Grace Nott. Grace Adams.

"You used my middle name? Seriously? I've never liked that name."

"Ariadne is too unique. Makes you easy to remember."

"Hmm, most people can't remember it because it's so different."

"In this line of work, unique details are what make you memorable. We can't afford to stand out." He dropped a few passports in his bag, reaching for his wedding ring, pulling it from his finger.

"Does that mean no rings either?" He did his best to ignore the sad tone on her voice.

"Unfortunately. Best not to leave any detail someone might remember."

"But if someone didn't remember you wearing a ring, wouldn't wearing a ring throw them off?"

"Not a chance I'm willing to take." He opened the top drawer of his bedside table, nestling the ring back in its original box that lay untouched since their wedding day. "This is only temporary. We will come back." Slowly she slid her ring off her finger, looking at it longingly. Even though it wasn't the original from her wedding day, she still didn't want to go off and leave it behind. She jarred from her thoughts as Arthur tossed a small black bag her way across the bed, quickly stooping to her bedside table, closing her ring inside the drawer.

"What's this?" She reached for the bag, unzipping it to reveal her everyday toiletries in miniaturized form, complete with hairbrush and hair ties, liquids in airline travel size bottles enclosed in a clear plastic bag.

"You should find everything you need." He said casually, glancing around as though trying to think what he'd forgotten.

"I'm inclined to think that this level of advanced planning borders on paranoia." She said absently, zipping the bag up again before placing it in her backpack.

"Time is a luxury we can no longer afford. Had to prepare for every contingency," Arthur slung his bag over his shoulder, heading for the living room, "turn off the lights when you're done, then we need to go." She sighed almost sadly, glancing around at everything symbolizing the start of their lives together, unable to believe they had to just up and leave. After gathering a few more items and doubling back for her phone charger, she stopped in the living room, darkened by the drawn curtains, watching Arthur in the office, filling his bag with assorted papers.

"So where do we go first?" She asked as he came out of the office, noticing he'd shed the tie and vest he wore earlier, leaving them and the suit jacket behind. Even still, he pulled off the dark gray slacks and light blue dress shirt very nicely. She followed him to the foyer, glancing around one last time as he opened the apartment door, following him out.

"Seattle, after Cobb.

xxx

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for Seattle and beyond…


	10. Rip

Latest offering. A bit shorter than my past chapters, but guaranteed to shake things up (and hopefully not drive anyone away). Please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 10: Rip

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sun. The overcast skies seemed to follow them these days as they worked their way to the west coast.

Arthur hadn't said exactly where Cobb and his family lived. Somewhere outside of Seattle was all she had discerned on their drive. She was more nervous than she wanted to admit, especially to Arthur, the epitome of cool calm. She released a deep breath for what must have been the hundredth time on the drive, dying to loosen the anxiety pooled in her stomach. The gray, near black sky above threatened rain, not helping the situation, just as Eames' message last night had done nothing to ebb their concerns about Dom.

"_Agents are back from France. Found nothing on Trent or Chambers. Asked about stateside contacts, mentioned Washington. No specific mention of Cobb. I'm being watched and followed, so don't expect to hear from me soon."_

"What do you expect we'll find?" Ariadne asked, breaking the somewhat tense silence in the car.

"An empty house. If Cobb caught a hint that someone was on to him, he would hide."

"Is Cobol clumsy enough to give that hint?"

"No." The word was short on his near pursed lips, accented by the roar of the engine as he accelerated. He feared the worst, but couldn't bring himself to actually discuss the possibility of Dom's death. There was simply no point in speculating—they would know the answer soon enough.

The houses were spread relatively far apart in the area where Cobb lived. Big, expansive yards with plenty of serene countryside on all sides of the house without neighbors in the way. Ariadne couldn't help but think it a nice place to live, wondering if Arthur would ever agree to live in such a setting. The car slowed to a stop, Ariadne quickly looking over at the house before turning to Arthur, watching him unfasten his seatbelt, reach for his Sig P-226. She swallowed hard, forcing herself into the moment, remembering it wasn't some dream as she reached to the floor, retrieving her own pistol. He looked over to her, something of a disbelieving smile on his face, never imaging they would wind up in a situation such as this.

"Hopefully all we find is an empty house. If that's not the case, cover me as best you can." He said.

"I will." She blew out a nervous sigh, hoping the smile on her face was confident enough. He reached over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leaning into her to place a kiss on her forehead. His eyes closed in determination, steeling himself for whatever they found in the house. Ariadne smiled against his skin, placing a nervous kiss, a wave of his cologne hitting her nose. He pulled back, reaching for the door handle as she swiftly followed. He crossed the yard in no time, up to the porch, with her right behind him. She glanced back nervously to the street, and between the neighboring yards as Arthur tried the front door handle. Unlocked. He reached a hand out, pulling Ariadne behind him, up against the wall, kicking the door fully open, moving inside, gun at the ready. She followed behind, her own gun poised, mouth falling open at the utter destruction. Pictures askew on walls, some knocked and broken on the floor, furniture on its side, papers littering the floor, dishes shattered and scattered. Whoever was here meant business. Arthur paused at the doorway to the kitchen, darting around the frame with a sweep of his gun as he took in the quiet shambles around him.

Ariadne lowered her gun to her side as she moved into the living room. It was clear the house had been empty for a while. Her nervousness mixed with a new sense of sadness, further knotting her stomach as she continued to look around the ruined home. Did Cobol have Dom and his kids? Were they safe in hiding somewhere? She released a sigh, hoping to relieve some of the tension, but to no avail. Slowly she crouched down, fingers gently tracing over the shattered remains of a porcelain doll face. Had this been Phillipa's favorite doll?

Arthur had checked all but the last bedroom, not willing to declare the house empty until every last room had been checked. He nudged the door all the way open, revealing a state of disarray to match the rest of the house, eyes instantly freezing on the blood stain on the carpet, the still body. He crossed the room in long strides, white hot anger coursing through him. It was clear the body had been here for a time by the discoloration and faint stench of decay but the recognizable features of Dom Cobb still stared lifelessly up at him. Arthur crouched down, drinking in his fallen friend. His head fell, a shaking hand rising to his forehead. He let loose a deep breath, seething with rage, eyes shut tight. Those fucking bastards. Dom was the closest friend he had ever known—they had shared more in their lives than most people ever did—and now he was just gone.

Arthur's hand fell from his forehead, letting his eyes settle again to his former friend, taking in the bullet wound to his temple, the shot taken on his left knee. So they had forced him to his knees, asked him to talk and when he refused, shot him in the knee. Effective for interrogation if the subject doesn't have a high threshold for pain. Arthur knew from their work, Dom's threshold for pain was slightly superior to his own. So Dom had refused to talk and straight onto the bullet in the head.

"Goodbye old friend." He whispered quietly, bowing his head, swallowing hard to stay focused. His friend was gone, and this was now just an empty body. He had to focus on the kids—Phillipa and James—they might yet be alive. Swiftly he rose, leaving the room and its contents behind, closing the door behind him.

"Find anything or anyone?" Ariadne's voice cut through the silence and he turned to see her at the end of the hallway.

"No one alive." He said softly watching her mouth open, eyes widening. "They got Cobb while he was here—bullet to the head. Didn't find the children. But we will." He started down the hallway towards her, shock registering on her face as she stared at the door he just closed.

"Dom's dead…? In there…?"

"Yes, we can't stay here." Arthur stopped in front of her, watching her numbly stare. "Ariadne?" Her eyes snapped to him. "Our friend is gone and we have to go. I will carry you out of here if I have to."

"I—." She fought for something to say, coming up empty as she struggled to process his words, blindly following him out the front door and back to the car. She stopped at the car door, head falling before turning to glance back at the house.

"I can't do this." Suddenly she turned, starting back for the house, determined.

"Ariadne." She heard his stern voice, ignoring him as she continued towards the house. She heard rushed footsteps behind her, a hand coming to wrap around her arm.

"Let me go Arthur." She ground out, twisting against his arm, feeling his grip tighten, his other arm reaching forward to stop her movements. "Arthur, let me go!" She fought against him, determined not to let him stop her from just abandoning Cobb. Her shoe hit a slick muddy patch of grass in the struggle, losing her footing and falling to the ground, mud splattering. Arthur sighed in frustration, brushing an errant spec of mud from his trench coat.

"Ariadne, you can't just go back in there." He started calmly.

"I'm not that heartless. I don't know how you manage it—he has to have been your closest friend! I can't just go off and leave him too." She rose, mud spotted, starting for the house. Swiftly he reached an arm out, latching onto hers, unmoving, holding her in place.

"Think Ariadne—what will you do when you get in there and see him? Yes, he was my closest friend—I know he means something to you too—and you won't be able to control the emotions. And then what? You'll carry him, bury him somewhere? Burn his body? And when the authorities inevitably find the house and his remains, covered in your fingerprints?" She stilled, eyes sinking in defeat, knowing he was absolutely right but not wanting to hear his words. Dom just couldn't be left to rot in his ransacked house. "Those Cobol fuckers will pay for what they have done. But not now. For now, we have to find James and Phillipa. Nothing else matters right now." She nodded, mind reeling, fighting against her every instinct to go back in the house. She felt his arm warp around her shoulder, guiding her across the lawn, back to the car. He opened her door with his free hand, watching her slump into the seat, moving to the driver's door, sliding in beside her.

"So where to next?" Her voice was small, heavy, laced with an edge of fury.

"New York. Miles needs to know."

xxx

The mood had grown steadily sullen between them. The truth and severity of the situation only solidified as they returned to the hotel, and hastily traveled to the airport, finding themselves now safely ensconced in a first class cabin, bound for New York.

Ariadne had tried to keep Arthur from retreating into himself. He had only said a handful of words to her, his eyes dark and distant. Even though he sat inches from her, she'd never felt so alone with him. She wanted to hold him and be held, run her fingers through his hair, draw out everything he felt but refused to show.

She let her head fall to the headrest, sighing in the dimly lit, near empty cabin as she turned to her husband. His head was downturned, eyes fixed on the night sky out the window, face a blank stare. Only the slight movement on his hand in his lap gave away that he was still awake. She couldn't even be sure of the time now, knowing they wouldn't land in New York until early dawn.

She fought for something, anything to say. She wasn't about to claim she knew everything about Arthur and Dom's relationship, but she knew enough to know they had been as close as brothers. What can one say? His arm rose, elbow coming to rest on the armrest as he lowered to hold his head in his hand. Never had he looked so lost and alone. She extended her hand, desperate to reach him, provide whatever comfort he'd let her.

"Something to drink ma'am? Sir?" Ariadne started, turning quickly at the flight attendant's words.

"Um, yes," she stumbled over the words, "water please, and…," she quickly glanced back to Arthur, still silent, still unmoving, "and a bourbon."

"Any mixer for that?"

"No, thank you." The flight attendant cast a quick concerned glance at Arthur before moving off. Ariadne sighed, letting her head fall. This was all too much. Life on the run, Dom's death, missing children…when would it end?

"No." He said softly, voice strained, threatening to break.

"No? To the bourbon?" No response. "I'm afraid you'll have a heart attack if you don't unwind and relax a little."

"Drinking isn't the answer." Her heart ached at the hurt on his voice.

"No, but I know you enjoy a drink as much you depend on it to take the edge off." Again she waited for a response, again receiving none. "Well if you won't drink it, I will."

"You hate bourbon."

"Can't let it go to waste." His hand dropped to his lap, head steadily rising as he turned to look at her, a hint of disbelief showing in his heavy eyes. Her face softened as she continued to look at him, wanting to make him see she was here for him. However strong he needed her to be now, she would.

"Alright, here you go," they broke their gaze as the flight attendant returned, setting the water and mini-bottle of bourbon on Ariadne's table, "anything for you, sir?" She looked to Arthur with a pleasant smile.

"No, thank you." He fought to keep an even edge to his voice as he answered, watching the attendant smile and head back up the aisle. His eyes fell to Ariadne, watching her unscrew the small bottle, smelling the contents within. She raised the bottle without a word, taking a big swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. The corners of his mouth lifted a little as she coughed in the aftermath, drawing a deep breath to round out the robustness of the drink.

"Here, love." He reached over, something of a smile on her face as she handed him the bottle. Smoothly he tipped his head back, draining the bottle's contents in one go. By no means was Arthur an alcoholic, but she wondered if he might become one someday given his current drinking habits.

He looked over at her, his face relaxing as he drew a deep breath, looking to the empty bottle in his hand, then back to her comforting eyes.

"Thank you Ariadne. You know me better than I would almost like to admit."

"Then don't shut me out," she said softly, trying to keep a pleading tone from her voice, reaching over to cover his free hand with hers "we're in this together—you don't have to keep everything inside—you can't keep everything inside. Can't leave me wondering and alone. That's not how partners work." He turned his hand over to clasp hers, interlacing their fingers as he leaned forward, matched by her movements until their foreheads touched.

"Having you here is the only thing keeping me from falling apart."He near whispered, voice strained.

"Everyone falls—you're only human." She raised her free hand to stroke the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. "You don't always have to be so strong." His eyes clenched shut, bottom lip quivering as he bit down to keep it still. She moved her head, pulling him to her shoulder, feeling his grip on her hand painfully tighten. A soft choking sob reached her ears as she continued to stroke the back of his head, relieved to know she finally had the young man beneath who was just mourning the loss of a dear friend, and not the stoic point man exterior.

He pulled back from her shoulder not a minute later, composed as always, a hand discreetly rising to wipe his eyes. His hand loosened its hold on hers, but never let go for the rest of the flight.

xxx

Eames wasn't surprised to find himself bound to a chair upon waking. It wasn't a new experience for him.

"Well Mr. Eames, it's a shame it's come to this." Eames' eyes fell on a familiar, spindly suited man.

"See, I knew you liked me." Eames put a light, casual tone on his voice, looking up with a smile.

"Charming as always, but even that won't save you this time." The Cobol agent raised two fingers, motioning to the shadows, figures shuffling around, producing another chair. "Much of this meeting's outcome will depend on your answers."

"My answers?"

"Its test time Mr. Eames. Simple really—pass or fail. Each result will be met with their own outcome of course."

"Those kind of tests never were my favorite," Eames started conversationally, tapping his bare feet against the cool floor as the agent took a seat across from him, "too black and white for my tastes."

"Ariadne Willems—do you know her?" A decidedly mischievous smirk came to Eames' face.

"Of course. Waitress from some bar in Paris. And between you and me, an excellent lay." So they knew he had been talking to her. Clever of Arthur to keep her phone under her maiden name. It was almost a wonder he trusted anybody.

"Do you still keep in contact with her?"

"The occasional dirty call or drunk dial. It's really a shame she didn't come back here with me." An amused smile came to the agent's face.

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Paris."

"Does she know the man Arthur Chambers, Trent—never mind the last name he chooses to use."

"Now why would we talk about other men when she's with me?"Despite the relaxed smirk on his face, Eames sensed the agent was holding a hand of aces, just waiting to trump him.

"Is that all?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know." The man in the suit slowly shook his head.

"Well if that's all, then I do believe we're done. And regrettably, Mr. Eames, you failed." Eames quirked his eyebrows. "Our man has located this Ariadne Willems in New York with Arthur. Given the nature of your phone activity with this number, we can only assume you're passing this Arthur information through her." The agent sighed almost regrettably. "And I thought we could trust each other." Again he motioned with two fingers, another man moving forward from the shadow, baring a long silver blade.

Eames' eyes widened, swallowing hard as the man approached. His teeth instantly clenched around the skin of his lip, sure it was bleeding, but nothing compared to the searing pain now emanating from his left foot where 4 toes and one bloody stump stared back up at him. His breathing came hard, fast, sweat forming on his forehead as he fought back at a cry at the mind numbing pain.

"Please Mr. Eames, by all means, keep lying to us." The agent's words were faint over the pounding in his ears. "Eventually we'll hit something important enough to make you cooperate." Eames opened his mouth to respond, but found it instantly covered with a white cloth, the sweet familiar scent of chloroform filing his senses, fuzzing his brain into darkness.

xxx

Thanks for reading! Difficult times for our favorites right now…stay tuned!


	11. Relief

Wow, the feedback on the last chapter was so heartwarming. Thank you all! Next installment. Please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 11: Relief

Twelve hours later, she would never have guessed he was the same man who had dropped his guard, if only for a minute, on the airplane. He'd been all business since their arrival at the hotel, swiftly showering and dressing, looking amazing as always even though the man had few clothes to work with, and instantly set to work on the laptop. The faint scratch of his pen would occasionally distract her, but she was glad last minute she'd tossed a book in her backpack. She'd just be sitting in the quiet room, staring out the window otherwise.

Try as she might, she just couldn't focus on her book. Dom's death, the missing kids…her stomach had been in one constant knot since leaving the Cobb house. She was desperate to talk it out with Arthur, and she kept casting longing glances his direction, his eyes intently focused on the work before him. If she were braver, she would have dared to bother him. But the pointed, determined gleam in his eyes almost spoke more than his words could. It seemed a lifetime before he rose, breaking the anxious silence and said it was time to go.

So here she stood, shoving her own thoughts aside, on the supposed doorstep of her old and favorite professor as Arthur took his own approach to the townhouse. Best they not go in together should the front of the house be watched, he had said. She doubted she would ever know what Arthur did all afternoon on the computer, or how he found this address or knew Miles was in New York, but part of her was still in disbelief. Timidly, she knocked on the door, almost dreading the sound of the deadbolt. She let a smile come to her face as the door opened, revealing the figure of the distinguished professor.

"Hi Professor Miles." She said warmly, watching his eyes light up with recognition.

"Ariadne? My goodness what a surprise," he smiled warmly, opening the door wider, "please do come in. It's so bitter out."

"Thank you." She stepped inside, glancing at the pictures and paintings on the walls, the rustic furniture and cozy colors. Just what she would expect.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Water? I'm having a spot of scotch myself." He said amiably with a light chuckle as she followed him into a study just off the foyer. "However did—." He stopped suddenly as he rounded the corner, starting slightly at Arthur's black trench coat clad figure as he stood solemnly where he had not just two minutes ago. Ariadne watched Miles' face fall before she glanced over to Arthur.

"Hello Miles." The point man said, his sharp voice a stark contrast to the cozy surroundings.

"Dom said if you ever came around, I should kick you to the curb."

"We won't be here long." Arthur returned.

"We?" Miles turned to Ariadne with something of a surprised, even sad look. "What trouble has he dragged you into?"

"He didn't drag me into anything."

"Then why are you here with him? Shouldn't you be in grad school anyway?" The concerned, near proud tone on his voice brought back so many memories of long lectures and advisor meetings.

"No, not anymore," she said, not sure how her next words would go over, "Arthur and I married last fall, and have since gone into business for ourselves."

"Throw away your education on a quick fix and marriage. And to him…you know what a dangerous man he is."

"And your son-in-law wasn't?" Ariadne countered, instantly regretting her use of the past tense word, watching Miles send a short glare Arthur's direction.

"Every team needs a man willing to get his hands dirty, and Arthur was always willing."

"Really, you're too kind." Arthur's lips curled in a barely noticeable snarl over the words as Ariadne cast him a disapproving glance. This wasn't how she wanted the meeting to go.

"Please Miles," she implored, drawing the older man's scowl away from Arthur, "we…we have news about Dom, and Arthur's life is just as much at risk."

"Dom knew something was going on, hence why he didn't want Arthur here further endangering my grandchildren."

"James and Phillipa are here?" Arthur suddenly asked, eyes widening as Ariadne drew a sharp breath.

"Yes, they have been for almost a month."

"A month?" Confusion knitted Arthur's normally stoic face, a deep breath leaving him as he processed the words.

"Yes, flew back with me from my last trip out to Washington at Dom's insistence," Miles said, noticing the young man's confusion mixed with something deeper as he inched to the door frame, "James! Phillipa!"

"Oh thank god." The words left Ariadne on a rushed breath as a smile lit her face at hearing the pattering of little feet down the hallway. Arthur drew another deep breath, flooding with relief, his face softening as the seven and five year old rounded the corner.

"Yes, Grampa?" Phillipa's face exploded into a huge smile. "Uncle Arthur!" Both she and James flew into the study as Arthur lowered to a knee, catching them both in an open armed awkward hug. Ariadne couldn't help the smile on her face as she watched him with the kids, his eyes briefly closing as though fighting to not crush the kids to him, tension draining from his shoulders.

"You need to visit sooner," Phillipa scolded as he pulled back, "we missed you."

"I know, I missed you too." Arthur's voice was more relaxed than Ariadne had heard in a long time.

"Where's daddy?" James asked, his eyes wide and curious.

"Is he with you?" Phillipa chimed in. A light sigh left Arthur as he considered his words.

"I don't know where he is," he opted for the lie, "I'm trying to find him."

"Well find him soon," Phillipa pleaded with a smile, "we want him back."

"Ok kids, you can go back to your movie now." Miles said with a smile, suddenly eager to talk to Arthur.

"How long are you here?" Phillipa asked, eyes wide, smile falling.

"I'm afraid have to go soon." The little girl leaned back in, resting her head against Arthur's shoulder at his words. Ariadne fought back a small laugh at the hints of awkward surprise on Arthur's face as his arm encircled her again, James leaning in to match his sister. Ariadne had always wondered how Arthur would do with children and seeing him here, while slightly out of his element, she had no doubt he could be a father someday.

"Bye Uncle Arthur." The kids called in near unison before scampering back to the living room, not casting a second glance back. Miles' smile remained as he watched the young man whom he'd never really gotten along with rise to his feet, visibly more relaxed than he was on arrival.

"Well that seemed oddly therapeutic for you." Miles said softly.

"Don't ever let those kids out of your sight." Arthur said, his tone deadly serious.

"Oh no?" Miles questioned.

"No," Ariadne cut in with a sigh, "we came here from Seattle, from Dom's house. Arthur knew there were people after him…and sadly, they got there first."

"I found him in the house, shot through the head," Miles reached a shaky hand back, sinking into his armchair, not wanting to believe the words, but the tone on the point man's voice left no room for doubt, "you should go to Seattle and see to his remains."

"His remains?" Miles echoed blankly, shaking his head. "How can you talk about him so heartlessly? Did he not mean anything to you? I know we have never really seen eye to eye, but I know you meant something to Dom." Ariadne watched Arthur's face tighten.

"Indeed he meant something to me, it wasn't easy finding him as I did," she marveled at the controlled edge on Arthur's voice, "but I have my life to consider now—Ariadne's life, James and Phillipa. More of us don't need to die." A pause settled as a light dawned in the professor's eye, his face hardening.

"I will not see my grandchildren turned over to your custody." Mile shot out of his chair.

"What?" Ariadne turned to Arthur with wide eyes.

"You know Dom listed you as first guardian, Miles," Arthur said, unmoving, "they fall to my care should something befall you."

"And I have never agreed with that decision." Ariadne suddenly felt like this was a conversation she should not be listening in on, feeling the tension in the room thicken.

"You know after yourself those kids don't have a soul in the world. Despite my own reservations, I couldn't just abandon them." Miles sighed heavily, still processing everything, not fully willing to believe any of this was real. He debated calling Dom's cell just to prove it to himself.

"Well, God willing, we have plenty of years left to sort it out." Miles said at length, the air between the two men relaxing. Ariadne let loose the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"The men who got Dom are still after me, and would not hesitate to grab James and Phillipa if they knew it would get to me." Arthur said plainly.

"We feared they had been taken when we found Dom." Ariadne said softly as Mile turned to her. "It's an overwhelming relief to see them here with you."

"Dom was supposed to fly out to pick them up next week." A sad smile came to Miles' face as a silence fell in the small study.

"Take care of him." Arthur's voice was soft, reverent even.

"What about you?" A reluctant tone sounded on Miles' words, his now concerned gaze settling on Ariadne before turning back to the point man. "You meant something to both Dom and Mal; you mean something to my grandchildren, and now one of my favorite students, so take care of yourself."

"That's the goal," a short smile came to Arthur's face, "we should go." His eyes settled on Ariadne who nodded with a nervous sigh, before turning back to Miles. "Thank you Miles, really."

"We may never agree on much Mr. Darren, but I know you're fiercely loyal and would never intentionally bring harm to those you care about," Miles held out his hand, "thank you, and best of luck to you." Arthur reached a hand forward for a solid shake with a quick nod of his head. "You didn't break anything to get in, did you?"

"No," an amused smile ghosted across Arthur's impassive face, "the backdoor lock gave away easily. You should see to getting a sturdier lock, as an afterthought." The warm look on Miles' face fell as he stared at the young man, shades of the earlier unwelcome returning.

"Well go on then," the professor said with a curt nod, "I'll see your wife out the proper way." Another nod from Arthur and he turned, disappearing through the study door leading to the kitchen. Miles sighed turning to Ariadne with a shake of his head. "While I can say I don't entirely approve, it is encouraging to see you sticking by that young man's side. He truly doesn't have another soul in the world either." Ariadne smiled, not sure that was an entirely accurate statement, but she had no idea how much Miles knew about Arthur Darren, and what was even true of what he did know.

"Deep down he's got a good heart," she said with a smile as they moved back to the foyer, "even if he comes across as heartless and his actions—methods—are questionable." A smile came to Miles' face.

"Dom and Mal said that same things about him."

xxx

The relief of finding James and Phillipa safe with Miles had them both visibly relaxed as they reconvened for dinner. As usual these days, dinner had been quick and quiet. Not that Arthur was particularly chatty even when he wasn't on the run for his life. But Ariadne would almost swear she could see the gears in his head turning as they ate, his eyes distant, calculating. She wondered if she could draw out his thought process, get a glimpse of his inner workings. But something told her she never would, no matter how many years they were together. Sadly, the taxi ride to the hotel was just as quiet. Ariadne tried not to let it get it to her. Yet she couldn't even remember the last time words conveying his love for her had passed his lips.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" She asked trying to keep the down note from her voice once up in the hotel room as she fell back on the bed.

"We'll hole up here for a time," his voice was distant as he crossed the room to the mini-bar, surveying the selection, "wait and see if we've kicked up any dust, caught anyone's attention." He picked up a small bottle of bourbon before turning to Ariadne. "You want one?"

"What's my choice for mixers?" She asked the ceiling.

"Straight, I'm afraid."

"No thanks." She rolled over to prop herself up on the elbow wishing he'd come lay with her on the bed, hold her close, make her feel loved, safe. She watched him uncap the bottle, tipping his head back, emptying the small bottle in one drink, his tongue flicking over his lips as he finished. If only he could let go enough right now to let his tongue touch hers. "Well I think I'm going to take a shower." He turned in time to see her roll off the bed, lazily walking to the bathroom door before he turned away again. "You're welcome to join me if you want…," surprisingly she felt her cheeks flush, "or you don't have to." She finished lamely noticing he'd turned from her, quickly moving to pull the bathroom door shut.

She forced out a sigh as she turned the water on to full hot. She just had to think of a way to reach him. Arthur still wasn't readily intimate with his emotions, but she had grown to love his increasing willingness over the years they'd been together to let her in, and she'd considered his release on the airplane a complete breakthrough. But now, it was as if nothing of the sort had ever happened, and she almost felt more cut off from him than ever. As she shed clothes, running fingers through her hair, she could only hope he wasn't shutting himself off completely. She was noticing the signs of his stress becoming visible—dark circles under his eyes, the color draining from his already pale face. Would he let them just hold each other and stroke away the other's cares?

Her eyes drifted shut as the hot water cascaded down her body in welcome waves. Rarely had she found anything as soothing and mind clearing as a hot shower. She would just have to make it last long enough to work up the courage to corner Arthur and force him to let go the point man, and just be a man, her husband if only for a short while. A rush of cool air hit her body as she heard the shower door open, footsteps falling to the shower floor behind her. Then she felt him—all of him—as he wrapped his arms around her, her back to his chest as he bent his head to rest on her shoulder, a feather light kiss falling to her damp shoulder.

"You deserve an apology Ariadne." He said softly, voice meant only for her.

"From you? No I don't." She leaned her head to rest against his, a heat growing in her low stomach, as his hands drifted lightly over her skin.

"You don't deserve all of this. You should be home with your husband—arguing about who does the dishes, starting a family—not running around the country. I shouldn't have introduced you to this world. But I'm too selfish to let you go." He tightened his hold around her. "And for that, I'm sorry."

"You are my husband," she simply said, "wherever you go—your world—is mine too. I wouldn't change a thing. Believe me, when this is over, you'll have the rest of your life to make it up to me and we'll start a family of our own." She caught the corner of his mouth twitch in a small smile.

"So long as they take after you." She laughed lightly, brushing her nose against the side of his head, her face widening into the first genuine smile she could remember since this ordeal started. His head rose off her shoulder, lips effortlessly finding hers. She sighed through the kiss, relishing the gentle glide of his lips against hers, the heady pressure, the taste of bourbon on his tongue. A fire fiercely spread through her body, settling between her legs as his strong hands started gently skimming down from her waist, tracing the curves of her hips, added by the streams of hot water. The air grew heavier as she fought to breathe through the kiss, desperately trying to get her hands on him. In a fluid movement, he turned her in his arms, backing her up to the tile wall, lips never parting.

Her fingertips traced over the muscled lines of his back she knew so well, loving the shudder that ran through him. Even now, and he knew not never, could he get enough of this woman. He could go to hell and back, and she would be at his side every step of the way. He let his hand lazily fall down her body to her thigh, circling the soft skin, inching ever closer to where she ached for him. She felt him growing rock hard against her, wondering if they should retire to the bedroom. Gradually his hands wrapped around her, lifting her, pressing her tight to the wall, brushing against her center, a low groan rumbling in his throat to feel her wet heat so ready for him.

"Should we—" Her words stopped short, a mew escaping her as he pushed in deep, bringing her down to settle around him.

"Should we what?" His breath, hot and heavy whispered past her ear as she adjusted to the feel of him.

"Should we go to—oh god…." The words left her on a rushed breath as he moved within her, never wanting to forget he half-lidded eyes, open-mouth smile. She pulled his lips to hers, not wanting another teasing response and only wanting him to move, let go within her.

His pace picked up, deep and determined, sharp gasps on her breath with every thrust. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, hips arched into him the faster he moved, his name on her breath. His lips latched to her collarbone, further quickening his pace to drive them over the edge. Her body wound around him, tightening until he couldn't hold on, groaning into her shoulder, hips stuttering in waves of release. She rested her head back against the wall, suddenly finding the air much too steamy as she fought to slow her heartbeat. Her hand rose to stroke the back of his head, running through his damp hair and she held him ever close, letting him ride the waves of his release. Despite it all, this man was worth holding onto, no matter the cost.

He raised his head off her shoulder and she wanted to drown in the euphoria of his brown eyes. She lowered her head, brushing her nose with his, skin damp from the steam and shower water.

"I'm sorry you didn't join me." He whispered, his voice husky, relaxed as he brushed a simple kiss to her pink, swollen lips, watching them curl in an embarrassed smile.

"Yeah I hated every minute of it," she said, failing to hide her smile and give him a disapproving look, "but the night's still young. I'm sure you'll make up for it." A low hum of acceptance passed his closed lips as he leaned in to hers, loving the touch of her fingers in his wet hair as they wrapped around the nape of his neck.

Slowly, even reluctantly, they disentangled and showered, swapping turns under the water, and stealing teasing touches and kisses. She couldn't believe she finally had him. This was the Arthur she married, the man who could let himself go and just be with her, sharing a physical intimacy that only furthered an emotional intimacy. Maybe after another round in bed he would open up and tell her how he felt about all this, reveal his future plans with great detail. She could only hope.

He had long retired from the bathroom, leaving her to finish up and dress. She glanced out at him in the room, watching him simply dress in boxers and an undershirt, glasses accenting his refined face. She wanted nothing more than to fall in bed with him, feeling and knowing only him in the darkness. A bullet pierced the window glass with a sharp ping, Arthur dropping to the floor with lightening speed.

"Get down!" He yelled, eyes narrowed, fixed on the bullet hole in the hotel wall as another shot broke glass, lodging in the bathroom wall.

"What the fuck was that?" Her words came out a panicked rush as she shimmied across the tile floor to the bathroom doorway where tile met carpet.

"Sniper. Surprisingly, not a good one…they found us."

"What? But how?" She watched him crawl using his elbows over to his bag, fishing out what looked like hotel keycards.

"We'll worry about that later. We need to get out of here." He pulled his body around, keeping a low profile, out of sight of the window, moving over to the door that conjoined to another room. He reached a hand up pulling the lock free, pushing open the door to the conjoining room.

"How'd you do that?" She asked after him as he moved into the dark room.

"Stop asking questions, we need to move." His voice sounded cross out of the darkness as she pulled her herself along the floor. "They have a man in the lobby who is well on his way up the elevator by now to confirm the kill or finish the job." She reached the other room quickly rising to her feet. "Close and lock that door if you would." He called out as she fumbled with it, running the short distance to catch him in the hallway…in her pajamas, hair soaking wet. He cast a quick glance down the hall, moving with swift catlike grace to the room opposite theirs, sliding a key card and the door falling open. She moved numbly, quickly inside, watching darkness envelop the room as he closed the door.

"What the hell is this?" She asked, unable to stand it any longer.

"Shhhh." He stood rooted at the door, eyes glued on the peephole. As if on cue, a tall man in a trench coat with a stone cold face appeared in the view, black gloved hands producing a key card and effortlessly disappearing behind the door to their room. Arthur let go the breath he'd been holding. Less than a minute later, the man reappeared out the empty room next to theirs. "Dammit." He hissed under his breath. He knew it was obvious, but impressive the man had worked through the lock so fast. Or did Ariadne not really lock the door? The man in the coat disappeared out of view. Arthur knew they only had minutes. "Come on, we have to move fast."

"I'm not moving until I get some answers."

"No time. We have people after us who will not hesitate to shoot if they get another chance. I can't give them that chance." She sighed, fighting back a trembling sigh as fear suddenly threatened to paralyze her. "Please Ariadne," his voice called out of the darkness, "you can't do this now. I need you." She fought through her growing haze and followed him back across the hall, through the empty room adjoining theirs.

"So you rented multiple rooms?" She asked at length as they moved.

"Yes. Stay to the ground, only gather what you can quickly that won't expose you to the window." He went first, effortlessly pulling himself across the floor to his bag, slipping back on his suit pants and dress shirt, seemingly stuffing in everything else. He never was one for spreading out.

Ariadne disappeared to the bathroom, reaching for things off the counter, letting them fall in her backpack, throwing her sweatshirt on over her cami, shimmying into a pair of jeans.

"We need to go." His voice sounded from the main room as she stuffed in clothes, scrambling for the last of her toiletries.

"Alright, alright." She slipped her arms through the backpack straps, crawling out on her stomach, to meet him on his back, bag strap across his chest, black metal of the Sig P-226 handle disappearing under his untucked shirt. Silently he slinked back to the empty room, her on his tail. Once in the hallway, she marveled how quickly and stealthily he moved, listening, peering around corners before rounding them, ushering her into the stairwell. Without a word he started going up, Ariadne scrambling to catch up.

"Shouldn't we be going down?" She asked, her breath coming in huffs from the exertion as the flights passed.

"No, they're watching the lobby. This is one of the older New York buildings, equipped with a fire escape. That's the best way out. Leads to an abandoned alley only a block away from the nearest subway station." Damn, she was suddenly impressed with how well he had thought this out, considering it was happening so suddenly.

"So…," she paused to draw a breath, "do you have these contingent escape plans everywhere we go incase we're found out?"

"Always." He held open the door on the roof exit, watching her instantly shiver as the cold night wind hit her wet hair. He strode across the roof, producing what looked like a mini-screwdriver from his pocket, the lock on the chain of the fire escape door falling away instantly under his hands. She smirked as she pulled her sweatshirt hood over her head; the man had always had talented hands.

"Watch your step. It might be a little icy." He stepped on the ladder, disappearing down the side of the building, careful to keep his footsteps light. Ariadne gulped nervously looking down the twenty some odd ladders before her into the faintly lit alley below, wishing for better lighting or a pair of gloves, or shoes better than flip-flops. She hadn't had time to throw on her more durable shoes and the extra weight in her backpack wasn't comforting given the situation. She reached an uncertain hand out, wrapping it around the railing, moving over the edge, taking a deep breath and climbing down. She couldn't even gauge how far ahead Arthur was.

Slowly, carefully she worked her way down, fighting to control her surging adrenaline and racing heart. Her fingers and toes had long gone numb from the cold, every ounce of heat delivered by her earlier shower spent.

"How are you doing?" She started at his voice in the darkness, nearly losing her grip, feeling her flip-flop slide against the slick metal.

"Doing ok. Will be much better when we get to the ground." She could picture his smirk even though she was fairly certainly he wasn't smirking given the circumstances.

"We're almost there." She heard him move, shoes clanking lightly against the metal. How had he had the time to throw real shoes on? A wave of annoyance ran through her as she followed him down, forcing herself to focus on each ladder, take it step by step, praying she wouldn't slip and fall.

"Slight drop ahead."

"Wait, what?" She turned in time to watch him let go the railing, dropping the height of the first story of the ground, bending his knees in a slight tuck and roll to break his fall. She stared down dumbfounded. He didn't expect her to do that, did he? He righted himself, brushing a trace of dirty snow from his shirt sleeve.

"Come on, I'll catch you."

"Excuse me?" She stared down still, eyes wide, unmoving.

"Move Ariadne," his words held a trace of annoyance, "there's no bottom ladder, and someone will have heard my fall. I will catch you." Steadily she reached the last ladder rung, uncertainty on her face as she glanced down at him. Not that she didn't trust him, but every ounce of her common sense was telling her not to let go. In a rush of a breath, she did just that, falling backwards, suddenly crashing against a strong set of arms and rigid torso as he braced to take her impact. "You alright?" His voice cut through her adrenaline high.

"Yeah, I think so. You?" She asked uncertainly.

"Great. Let's go." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, half dragging her with him at his fast pace as she struggled to keep up with her shorter legs. Her heart was pounding so fast it was a wonder the whole alley wasn't hearing it.

"Hey! You two there—stop!" The breath caught in her throat and she went rigid under Arthur's arm as the voice cut through the alley. He hadn't been lying after all.

"Don't stop." Arthur whispered under his breath, pace quickening, desperate to round the corner and leave the alley. He glanced back, noticing their pursuer in the faint light withdraw a gun from his coat. In a single move Arthur pushed Ariadne away, reaching for the gun in his waistband, leveling it and firing off a shot. Ariadne jumped, a startled scream leaving her throat at the gunshot, watching their pursuer drop to the ground behind them. She stared in shock, first at him, then at her husband.

"Ariadne," he turned to her, tucking the gun away, the glaze over her eyes sending a wave of concern to cut through his rational mind, "you can't do this now. When we're out of here, you can let go completely. But I need you to keep it together for a hundred more feet." Slowly her eyes moved to his, nodding but not understanding. He walked up to her, turning her with strong hands on her shoulders, tucking her to his side. "We need to go." Her feet moved of their own accord to keep up with him as they moved down the street, cold bitter wind biting through their clothes. Arthur kept a wary eye on the street, listening for anything, looking for anyone as they neared the subway station. He knew the man in the alley wouldn't take long to discover. His gun shot was bound to have woken up more than a few hotel guests.

Swiftly he lead her down the subway stairs, producing the correct fare from the front pocket of his bag, allowing himself a deep breath as they reached the platform.

"Are we safe?" She whispered against him, her voice small.

"Not yet." He glanced up at the clock, desperate for the train to arrive. The few other people around cast him uncaring glances as he held Ariadne to his side, the loud rumble of the approaching train reaching his ears. "But we're close." The train stopped, doors opening as he quickly ushered her inside, setting her down on the nearest bench, dropping to sit beside her, keeping his face hidden behind her hood, watching for any lingering passengers to descend. His eyes landed on a man—the one from earlier with the trench coat—flying down the stairs and onto the platform. Arthur's breath caught as the doors slid closed, quickly dropping to the floor, shielding himself from window view with her body. Slowly the train started to pull away, his eyes catching a departing glance of the trench coat man looking around with a furrowed glare. Slowly he let himself rise, settling back against the seat, letting go a tense sigh, ignoring the curious stares of those around him. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses, irritated with himself for letting them get so close.

"Cell phone." He quickly said, watching Ariadne silently move to her bag, producing the offending item. Immediately Arthur killed the power, ripping open the back cover and yanking out the battery. "Fucking Eames," he grumbled, "this is how they found us. Your cell signal. I don't know if Eames got sloppy with his history or they got access to his damn call logs, but they found us through your phone. It can't be on anymore. They'll find us again." He slipped the cover back on, handing her back the dead phone, slipping the battery away in his bag.

"Don't trust me?" She asked, voice weak.

"It's nothing personal." It was about control. This situation needing handling, and even though he had controlled it to the best of his ability, he was on the defensive. They'd have to get away somewhere, hide. He needed time and space to think and plan. It was time to go on the offensive. He glanced out the window, watching the nonexistent scenery fly by. He fought against it, but knew there was only one place to go to guarantee safety from their current position.

"What now? You said we were gonna hole up, but I think it's obvious we caught someone's attention." He glanced at Ariadne who now held her head in a shaking hand, eyes closed.

"We leave New York, hide off the grid until we plan our next move. Flying is too risky, so we'll stick to ground transportation."

"And just where can we go that is off the grid and reachable by ground?"

"Do you still want to meet my parents?

xxx

Thanks for reading! Any requests for Arthur's parents? Stay tuned…!


	12. Rust

Thank you for all for the love & reviews! I'm so glad so many of y'all are enjoying my work! I apologize for the delay (silly holidays), but please enjoy this latest offering!

Oneagemtron – thanks for the suggestion! You will see shades of your idea below, tweaked to suit my own nefarious purposes.

Hope you enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 12: Rust

A Black Dodge Charger cut through the night, winding its way up the occasionally icy interstate, going well over the speed limit. Ariadne had long lost track of the hour. She couldn't even say how long they'd been in the car. All she really knew was that it was some ungodly hour in the morning before dawn. She barely remembered their arrival at the rental car place, signing paperwork and each disappearing to the bathroom to clean up before hitting the road. She did, however, remember the jealousy that washed over her as she watched Arthur emerge, contacts in, hair smoothed in place, clothes tidy, while she stood there feeling like a sloppy drowned rat. Rolling her head on the head rest, she squinted over at Arthur, jealousy from earlier resurfacing. He looked as cool and collected as ever, the dark circles under his eyes now accented by the dash lights the only evidence of anything amiss.

"How are you alright to drive this fast?" She asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "Isn't it icy out?"

"I learned how to drive on these roads. They're only completely clear four months out of the year."

"But," she countered with a yawn, "so much of driving depends on how the car handles. How can you possibly be comfortable enough with this rent car to go as fast as you are on these patchy icy roads."

"The suspension of this car is rated similar to the A5, hence why I was particular about the car we rented. A downgrade, to be sure, but manageable."

"Manageable? That doesn't sound like—" He suddenly swerved the car in a squeal of tires, her body crashing into the center console, startled yelp leaving her. Hands flailing, she reached for the handle on the door, bracing herself as Arthur jerked the car back over into their lane. Adrenaline instantly coursed through her, eyes wide as she turned to Arthur, sudden panic in her eyes.

"What the hell was that!"

"Moose." If she wasn't on the verge of falling apart, she would have laughed. She stared at him in shock as he sat still ever so calm, so composed…hadn't the man just suddenly swerved to avoid a moose? A simple, fucking moose? Her eyes sunk closed, a shaky hand rising to her forehead.

"I-I can't...god, I—. " She stumbled over the words, unable to form a coherent thought in her mind to put in words. She glanced back at her husband from under her hand, almost angry he was so unaffected by everything. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Nothing fazes you. It's as if you know what's going to happen so nothing surprises you—you never lose your edge, or show panic, fear, doubt, confusion."

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I did." She shook her head annoyed.

"It makes me so damn jealous…I'm jumping at every little sound, scared to close my eyes, and you sit there like we're on an everyday road trip." She sighed, sleepily. "What I wouldn't give to be like you."

"I wouldn't want you to be like me. Only one of us needs to die of a heart attack before fifty." His voice was soft with some hint of truth and mirth.

"That's not funny." He scanned the horizon, searching for words.

"Truth is, you never get used to it. It's just an adjustment to a whole new way of thinking, of trying to survive," he recalled Eames' words, knowing them to be true, "you'll come to find survival is a remarkable instinct."

"Survival…yes, yes…from former employers, snipers, moose…." She trailed off, hearing and loving his near silent laugh. What she wouldn't give to have the carefree days of their honeymoon back. Leisurely dinners over fabulous wine, days of swimming and lounging, nights of heated, undistracted passion. "So what's with you and your parents? You never talk about them, and I've had enough surprises lately." She prepared to fight him if he refused to talk.

"Simple story," he said, his voice detached, surprising her with his willingness, "my father never wanted children. My mother tricked him with her birth control to get me."

"Seriously?"

"That's not something you just make that up about yourself."

"But they seriously told you?"

"My father did. Sebastian's a master of lies, even more so than our dear friend Mr. Eames. He has my mother so wrapped up, that when he dropped the shitty truth on me, his hope was when I told her, she would grow to hate me. Well that didn't happen and she has kept living in her little blissful world."

"And you believe it when your dad told you, you were a mistake?"

"Unwanted, was his word. The 'successful chance of a lifetime' were my mother's." A laugh bubbled out of Ariadne's throat, a welcome release of tension as she quickly brought a hand to her mouth to silence herself, knowing it was wrong to laugh at his words.

"I'm sorry," she said after a breath, "I know that's really not funny…but, please continue."

"There's not much left to say really."

"Oh no, no, there is more than that, you can't stop talking just yet." A shade of her earlier annoyance crept back to her voice.

"What else do you want to know?" She rolled her head back to face him, studying the shadows on his face in the faint light, almost surprised he was suddenly willing to be so forthcoming.

"So your father didn't want you…so he, just what, ignored you?"

"Mostly, especially when I was younger. As I got older, he realized it was entertaining to tell me his true plans—namely fooling around with one of his mistresses—and then lie to my mother about it in front of me, knowing I was powerless to convince her otherwise. It was his house, his control, his rules, and he kept my mother happy and she had me, so she never questioned it."

"And your mom raised you by herself?"

"Convinced of her crusade that because I was essentially devoid of fatherly love, she would compensate. I've been mothered, hen-pecked and fussed over to last me a lifetime," hints of annoyance crept to his voice, "and it didn't stop when I got older. Going to college was liberating if only because I was alone for the first time in my life."

"Sounds like tensions were high last time you were home," Ariadne surmised, catching his hand tighten on the steering wheel, "and that was what, nine years ago?"

"Ten."

"What's stopped you from going back since?"

"The last time I was home, I confronted Sebastian about everything—the neglect, the lies, the affairs," he gave a quick shake of his head, lips curling to a grimace, "I threw the first punch, but didn't know what I was doing, so he got the final say."

"You got in a fight with your dad?" Her eyes widened. "He got you so riled that you wanted to fight him? And I thought only Eames had that ability….," she shook her head, "but you're always so in control."

"You didn't know me ten years ago. You wouldn't recognize me." Her face narrowed pensively, casting a sideways glance to him, eyes quickly running up and down his body.

"Well, I fell in love with the man you are, so I wouldn't say it's a bad thing that you changed." Again she caught his near soft laugh.

"That's comforting. Thank you." Silence resumed in the small space.

"So..," she started again, "he, or they, have no idea we're coming after all these years?"

"You've been with me every minute since we left New York, and we currently don't have a phone."

"Lovely." In any other situation, she would have been perfectly willing to put up with any awkward family drama in existence. Right now, all she wanted was to hide from the world in her husband's arms.

"I'm not so concerned about it, so please don't stress yourself out further. We'll have a nice breakfast when we get there and go straight to bed. I could use sleep now more than anything."

"Only if you're there to keep the nightmares away." She said with a yawn.

"Always." He reached a hand from the steering wheel over to grasp hers, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss.

x

Soft lips fell to her cheek as her eyes fluttered open, greeted by a gray morning light. She couldn't keep the smile from curling about her lips, eyes falling closed as she felt Arthur brush another kiss against her cheek.

"Wake up, we're here." Slowly she opened her eyes, taking in the dreary morning light. The expansive, pristine lawn was veiled in the early light, a semi-circle driveway, on which they now sat, cutting through it to lead to the house. She reached for the door handle, stepping out in the chilly morning air, watching Arthur walk around to her side of the car.

"What about your bag?" She asked with a yawn.

"We'll get them later." He reached a hand to hers, gently leading her from the car over to a trellised entrance through a white fence with a path running alongside the house. The house was more of a mansion than anything, expansive and majestic with a stone front running along the first floor, and light gray wood siding on the upper stories, accented by pristine white shutters. The setting, even with a cloudy, overcast sky, was beyond beautiful, a glimpse of the ocean coming into view as they neared the back of the elegant house. She was suddenly jealous Arthur grew up in such a home.

"Your parents' home is lovely. Their whole lot is just breathtaking."

"Just as I remember it." Arthur's voice was neutral as usual, gravely now with exhaustion from driving all night. His hold on her hand tightened, the simple touch a welcome source of comfort as they came to a stop on the backside of the house, glancing out at the water, just able to hear the waves crashing against the shore.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, sir? This is private property." Arthur and Ariadne both turned at the sudden, incessant upper-class English voice, noticing an older man in a black suit and tie head their way. Arthur's face opened to a look of surprised recognition.

"Gerard?" He called out, already knowing it to be his family's long time butler. The older man stopped at the call, eyes narrowing to Arthur's face before a widening to a look of disbelief.

"Master Arthur?"

"Indeed Gerard. It's good to see you again." The butler's face lit up in an overjoyed smile.

"My word, young master—how wonderful it is to see you again!" Ariadne couldn't help the smile on her face at hearing the happiness and even love in the older man's voice. "Too many years have passed since you were last home."

"It has certainly been a while. You haven't aged a day." Even the warmth on Arthur's voice was surprising to Ariadne.

"And you should know better than to lie by now." Gerard's face fell to a look of playful scolding.

"Gerard, I'd like to introduce my wife, Ariadne." Arthur turned to her with a small smile.

"Delighted to meet you madam."

"You too." She offered with a warm smile.

"Oh, please forgive me, but it's so wonderful to have you both here," Gerard continued, his infectious smile growing, "I still remember the days of young master Arthur running these halls in training pants." They all shared a small warm laugh. "But I must apologize, nothing is prepared for your arrival. Your parents keep it a secret from us all."

"My parents don't yet know we're here." Gerard's face curled into a look of happy surprise.

"I'm sure they'll be overjoyed when they learn the news sir."

"Let's hope," Arthur said with a dismissive smile, "are they awake yet?"

"Not yet sir. In another hour or so. In the meantime, may I bring anything for you and the missus?"

"A light breakfast would be splendid—eggs, fruit, juice," Arthur said smoothly, "and then I think we'll retire for a time. We drove all night from New York."

"My word, sir. I'm glad you two arrived safely. I'll have Elsie make a room up right away, and have breakfast out shortly. Anything for you ma'am?" He inclined his head politely to Ariadne.

"The same as Arthur would be great. But, um, I would love a mug of hot tea, if I may."

"But of course ma'am. No trouble at all. Please, both of you, make yourselves at home. Breakfast will be waiting in the conservatory momentarily."

"Thank you Gerard." Arthur said with a warm smile as the older man bowed and turned, heading back for the house. Ariadne was almost speechless, a small pursed lip smile on her face. This just all seemed like too much to be true. She couldn't even believe less than twenty four hours ago she'd been wrapped around Arthur's body in the hotel, near panting his name only to be chased by men with guns down the street.

"Don't look so impressed." She returned from her thoughts, catching the hint of embarrassment on his voice, the faint smile now lingering about Arthur's lips.

"'Young master Arthur…," she said, rolling it off her tongue, shaking her head with an amused smile "boy, Eames would have a field day with that one."

"Indeed, and if he ever finds out, I will know who to blame." He glanced up towards the house, before turning back to her, the circles under his eyes prominent even in the low light. "Shall we?" She stepped up to him, sliding her hand back into his grasp as they started for the house.

"Is this typical weather for the east coast too?" She asked, a down note to her voice, glancing at the gloomy sky. "I can't remember the last time we saw sun."

"That's the beauty of coastal weather—it could clear up by noon or linger for the duration of our stay." A distant roll of thunder accented his words.

"Wonderful." They crossed the wide steps up to the back patio, entering the house through tall French doors, flanked by expansive windows. The house interior was pristine and elegant in shades of neutrals with spots of color, accented by dark wood trim. It was classy, sophisticated and cozy, though not as modern trending as Arthur's current tastes. They wandered silently through the open corridor, casting glances in the adjoining rooms, making out a TV room, billiards room, library.

"Amazing how some things never change." Arthur muttered as he moved them through an open door off to their right into a room wrapped in glass windows from floor to ceiling, a row of green plants running around the window walls, simple plush chairs pulled up to a glass table, vase of flowers in the middle. Her mouth started watering at the smell of food on the tray also on the table as she continued glancing around in awe.

"He wasn't kidding when he said food would be ready momentarily." She said, impressed with the quality looking food delivered in such short time as they moved to the table.

"My parents have never had a tolerance for waiting. They've had their house a smooth running, efficient machine for many years."

"Well that certainly explains some things about you." She didn't miss the small, near embarrassed lift in the corner of his lips as they took a seat, tucking into the food before them. Maybe it was the exhaustion or shot nerves, but never had she found such a simple bowl of scrambled eggs to taste so good or be so satisfying.

"Nothing like farm fresh eggs." Arthur said softly.

"Farm fresh?"'

"Probably from somewhere near Wells. They've always had the best." She couldn't help but smile as he talked. It was just so refreshing to see him open up, however plain the conversation. "The raspberries and blueberries were most likely grown only a few miles from here last summer, frozen though and thawed now."

"I would have never guessed you to have even a remotely working knowledge of anything agricultural."

"I wasn't lying when I said I assisted the groundskeeper for a summer." She paused, a smile coming to her face as she drifted back in memory to that delightful café.

"_My consummate thief. Have you ever held a legitimate job before now?" He looked skyward, pensive._

"_Assisted the groundskeeper for a summer when I was eleven." He loved the little laugh that left her. _

"_Now that I would love to see."_

"_Thank god you never will."_

"_I'm sure your mother has pictures."_

"_Let's hope it never comes to that."_

"Where is he?" A pleasant, neutral voice echoed in the windowed conservatory, jarring Ariadne from her thoughts. She turned to where Arthur was now looking out into the high ceilinged living room towards a heavy wood, thickly carpeted staircase. A tall, thin woman in a flowing dressing gown with silver hair stood on the middle landing, her outline sharply accented against the big window of gray sky behind her. The soft muttering of a British voice could be heard, soon drowned out by a crack of thunder. Ariadne turned back to see Arthur rise, dropping his napkin to his chair, eyes locked to the woman. Ariadne kept her seat as Arthur moved for the living room, the sudden appearance of who she assumed to be his mother unnerving her more than she'd admit.

"Mother?" He called out softly, eyes narrowing.

"Is that really my Arthur? Come closer and let me look at you." She held out a hand as he slowly started up the carpeted steps, studying his mother. Her eyes shone with the same sparkle he remembered, the corners of her mouth crinkled the same way as always with her smile. Her hair was considerably more silver, but still fashionably styled, her skin just as pale as his. He didn't even realize he was smiling as he neared her. The smile fell from Eleanor Darren's face as her son crossed the remaining steps, replaced with confused curiosity.

"My boy, what have you done to yourself?" She questioned, darting a hand up to lightly grab his jaw, tilting his face in the pale morning light. "You…wear your hair differently, no more glasses….even your face looks different."

"Mother, please stop." Arthur said, a slight hint of annoyance on his voice, cheeks coloring as he gently pulled his mother's hand from his face, holding it loosely.

"I'm so glad you've finally come back home to let me take care of you again." Her smile returned as she looked up at him, turning slightly as movement in the conservatory caught her eye. Arthur watched the smile fall when she saw Ariadne, just as he'd expected. "What is that?"

"Please don't refer to my wife as a 'what.'" Arthur simply responded, his voice even despite the sudden look of pure shock on Eleanor's face.

"Your…wife?" She turned to him with wide eyes. "You gave away your name without our permission. She could be a nobody! Arthur, you were always such a good boy, how could you possib—"

"Mother, don't." Eleanor fell silent, taken aback at the firm, authoritative tone from her son who had never before dared to raise his voice to her, "please, let's not have this discussion now. I haven't slept in thirty-six hours, I have a lot on my mind and I don't want to get short with you." Eleanor pulled her hand back from his as though stung. "This gives you time to make peace with the idea before I introduce her to you, and I do hope you'll be civil. She means more to me than anyone, and it will make our stay a little bit easier."

"How long will you stay…with her?"

"I don't know how long yet we will be here, but I intend to stay with her as long as she'll have me." Eleanor's frown deepened, not getting the answer she wanted. "Go dress and enjoy the day. We'll reconvene later once she and I are better rested." Eleanor took a step back, amazed at how her son had changed. She struggled for words, her mouth falling closed as she turned to ascend the stairs, a hint of heartbreak flashing across her face. Swiftly he turned back down the stairs, surprised she had actually deferred to him. It was certainly a first.

Ariadne sat, silently curious as he returned to his seat.

"As I expected, she wasn't particularly pleased to learn about you." He softly said to which she nodded.

"Well from what you've told me, that makes sense."

"You'll meet her later today. I'm not currently fit to pursue it further at the moment." Professionally, he could push his body through anything—hunger, pain, exhaustion—but personally, when emotions were on the line, he didn't want to push it and risk losing control.

"I know, even though you're fighting now to show it, you're exhausted." She reached a hand to his arm comfortingly as she settled back to finish her tea, watching him finish the food before him. Why he had chosen for them to come here at a time like this was beyond her. Didn't he already have enough stress with Cobol? Was he trying to make peace in case the Cobol situation ended badly? Her heart suddenly sunk at thought of Arthur dying by Cobol's hand. Whether it was a simple missed shot or lousy timing, she knew they had been lucky in New York. After that episode, if Cobol has another chance at their lives, they won't miss. She swallowed hard, willing herself to stop thinking such heart wrenching thoughts. Both she and Arthur were alive for now, and that's what mattered.

xx

Arthur had left her safely ensconced in the library, wrapped in a warm blanket on a plush chaise lounge, book in hand. Two days had passed since their arrival in Maine, and Ariadne hadn't even seen Arthur's father yet. Meeting Eleanor wasn't really that awkward. She was surprisingly gracious and weary, seemingly more concerned about Arthur than her, which suited Ariadne fine. She didn't want to spend the next few days as a subject of Eleanor's attention.

It was clear she had missed her son, but wasn't entirely happy with him being back. She kept referring to the past—foods he liked, activities he enjoyed, time they spent together—to draw out the young man she had known ten years ago, only to find someone new inhabiting her son's skin. Her eyes were longing as she looked at him, as though wishing she could make him back into the little boy whose affections knew only her. Ariadne couldn't say she blamed Eleanor—it must be difficult to see your son become someone else, and having not seen him in ten years, the change was certain to be even more pronounced. And Arthur's usual, cool detached tone was doing nothing to help the situation, and at times, even came across as cruel. So Ariadne had found herself oddly in the middle. She sighed, turning a page in her book, not really paying the heavy creak of the library door any mind.

"So you're the young woman who will bear my grandchildren." Ariadne's eyes darted up from her book, watching the delicate Eleanor Darren ghost into the room, moving for a chair opposite her.

"Hopefully, someday." She hoped the smile on her face was genuine enough.

"Well I'm only getting older," Eleanor settled into a chair facing Ariadne, "and I would like to see my grandchildren at least once before I die. Given the rate Arthur visits, the next time will be my funeral."

"Oh, I think you underestimate him—"

"Don't presume you know my son better than me. I've known him for thirty years." Eleanor's gray eyes steeled, leveling with Ariadne's, her tone defensive. It sounded like a desperate attempt for her to admit she still knew something about him after all these years.

"I'm sorry," Ariadne forced a warm tone to her voice, recognizing the sharpness of Arthur's eyes in the woman before her, "I didn't mean to imply anything. But, um, we haven't really set a timeline for kids yet. We're both enjoying working, um, being newlyweds."

"Yes, yes," Eleanor said dismissively, "have your parents met him?"

"Yes."

"What do they think of him? Did they know the name?" Ariadne fought to keep the confusion from her face.

"His…last name?"

"Yes dear, what else?" The woman's incredulous voice brought a faint tinge of embarrassment to Ariadne's cheeks.

"They think he's a great guy…that I couldn't have found anyone better. And no, they didn't know the last name."

"Well I'm not surprised," Eleanor relaxed against the chair with a little smile, something of a warm tone coming to her voice, "it is a bit of a pity though he didn't find someone more befitting the Darren name. Yes, you're pretty enough, nice enough, but the Darren name is hardly one to give away on a whim." Ariadne's eyes widened at her words. Had the woman only come here to insult her?

"But with all respect," Ariadne started, trying to keep her tone civil, "you weren't a Darren by birth. What made you so worthy?"

"Dear girl, I was a Vassar—a family with great wealth, social stature and political influence—a perfect match for the Darrens."

"So you married for those reasons…did you love your husband?" A smile came to Eleanor's face.

"Yes…very much so. He was charming, handsome, debonair, everything I wanted."

"Then aren't you happy I have found the same in Arthur?"

"Your so called love for Arthur cannot compare to me and Sebastian," a thin smile came to Eleanor's face as Ariadne remembered Arthur's words about the lies and mistresses trying to keep her face neutral, "I only wish my son had found the same as us." Ariadne's brows furrowed.

"You wish your son had found love?"

"A perfect love."

"No love is perfect."

"Starting with yours."

"Is it not enough for you to know that we're happy?"

"While I can hope it lasts, I'm not optimistic."

"Are you the voice of experience?" Another distant smile crossed Eleanor's face.

"It's not like it used to be…he used to look at me with his dimpled smile, all the love in his heart only for me," Ariadne thought she noticed tears welling in the other woman's eyes, "but now…he's cold, a mere ghost of the boy I used to know. He…never talked back or raised his voice to me before." Ariadne hadn't been sure at first, but she was certain now they were talking about Arthur. "It happened to me, and I know it will happen to you…he'll wake up one day, and run out of your life. And if you're lucky to see him again, he won't be as you remember him."

"You think he ran away from you?" Just how much did this woman not know? Was she not aware of the supposed tension between Arthur and Sebastian years ago?

"And he came back with you."

"I wouldn't think his leaving was a personal reflection on you. What does your husband say about it?" She hadn't even met the man yet, but knew either Arthur or Sebastian—or both—needed to sit this woman down and have a serious talk.

"Sebastian never said a word, not that I asked or expected him to."

"And you blame Arthur?"

"I don't believe I ever said that dear girl. Merely warning you, he has a history of abandoning those who love him." Eleanor glanced to the window. "Well I do believe the rain has stopped." She rose from her chair, moving to look out the window before heading for the door. "I wonder what is keeping Sebastian and that son of mine."

Ariadne sat stunned. What the hell has just happened?

xxx

"You wanted to see me?" The heavy oaken door closed softly behind Arthur as he watched something of a smile come to his father's face. God, he looked the same as Arthur remembered—tan, lithe and pompously smug.

"Some accent," Sebastian turned his back to Arthur, "I didn't realize you hated us so much to change the way you talk."

"Not 'us'."

"You always were an insufferable mama's boy."

"One of us had to look out for her and it certainly wasn't going to be you."

"Scotch?" Arthur shook his head as he crossed the study, stopping near the massive window, hearing liquid fill a glass. "You know you're not welcome here."

"I don't believe that is your call to make; the property is in Eleanor's name." Sebastian, turned back to Arthur, looking up with narrowed eyes over his scotch glass.

"How did you know that?"

"You don't know what I do for a living." Sebastian took a long hard drink, curiously studying his son as he moved to sit behind his massive mahogany desk.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear years ago who was in control around here."

"Control? You screwed around on Eleanor countless times; fucked up by impregnating a close friend and shipped her off to Virginia to save your ass; broke my nose in the aftermath. And you claim to have control?" Arthur's voice was cold as ice.

"I broke your nose?" A laughed sounded on Sebastian's words. "I thought you looked a little different."

"Corrective surgery does that." Arthur's face remained impassive as Sebastian's laugh filled the study again.

"Well I can't help that your punch didn't land where you wanted it. I had to defend myself before you tried again." Arthur shook his head, glancing out the window. Tension between Arthur and Sebastian had been mounting for months before Arthur had worked up the nerve to actually throw a punch. The affair with the close friend had simply been the straw to break the camel's back. "I suppose I could have you arrested for assault." Sebastian started at his son's sudden dark laugh.

"That would actually be the least of my worries."

"It would solve the problem of your unwanted presence."

"I wouldn't be there for long." Arthur considered mentioning his prison escape in Kiev, but thought better of it. Kiev brought up too many other memories.

"Why are you here?" Sebastian suddenly asked.

"Hiding out, lying low, however you want to term it."The casual tone on Arthur's voice made Sebastian pause.

"You in some kind of trouble?"

"Nothing time won't fix."

"Damn son," Sebastian's face lit up as he set his glass down, reaching for the phone, "now I really can't wait for the police to arrive." Arthur flew across the room, snatching Sebastian's hand off the phone, forcing his arm back in a hard twist, watching his father's face scrunch in pain.

"Calling the police won't gain you anything. Maybe if you had the right name you'd get me arrested and deported."

"The right name?" Sebastian's voice came out strained. "This here could qualify as assault." Arthur smirked mirthlessly.

"I've interrogated enough people to know how to inflict pain without leaving a mark." Arthur twisted the man's arm for emphasis, bending it further, hearing the near silent grunt of pain. "For too many years, Eleanor and I have put up with your shit. You have her perfectly fooled, but I damn well know better. I lacked the means before, but you have no idea what I'm capable of now." Sebastian flinched as Arthur twisted again.

"I never considered you a dangerous threat until now." Sebastian ground out.

"You think I'm dangerous awake?" Arthur's voice lowered to his father's ear. "Asleep, I'm your worst fucking nightmare. Change your ways old man." Arthur released the arm with a rough throw, moving for the door, casting a glance back at his speechless father, noting the look of startled shock. Apparently neither elder Darren expected their son to return with such take-charge authority.

"You can still call the police if you feel the need," Arthur started again, voice even as always "you won't have a basis for anything, and if I remember correctly, Chief Hamilton always did like me." A small, forced innocent smile came to Arthur's face before returning to his usual sharp look. "The duration of my visit has yet to be determined, but it shouldn't be of any inconvenience to you. And regrettably, I'm currently in the middle of a project, but if I catch wind of any of your usual shit befalling my wife, it won't be long before I return for a more in depth heart to heart." He turned, opening the heavy wood door, disappearing without another word, leaving Sebastian in a stunned silence.

X

Dinner that night was interesting, to say the least.

xxx

Thanks for reading! What can possibly come of all this…stay tuned!


	13. Reprieve

You readers are awesome! I continue to be blown away by the response to this story. Thanks for everything & I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

One note: the temperatures presented below are in Fahrenheit.

Two note: those of you who read Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child novels will recognize a character below. You don't need to know anything about him or his background to understand his use in this story though. But this note is to simply say, he is not an original creation.

Thanks again & please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 13: Reprieve

She was just starting to feel comfortable wandering around the house on her own. The doors in the hallways looked less intimidating, but she still only kept to the conservatory and the library. She hadn't seen Arthur's father since dinner their second night at the house—true to Arthur's word, he had barely said ten words, near ignoring everyone in the room. She had been curious at the nervous glances he kept casting at Arthur. She meant to ask him about it, but couldn't bring herself to in the house. Ariadne couldn't shake the feeling she was constantly being watched.

She tucked her book tighter against her side as she neared the library. Arthur had a meeting with an old friend that he wished her to stay away from. There seemed to be enough skeletons in Arthur's closet and she was almost glad to sit this one out. Her eyes narrowed curiously as she approached a wheelchair bound guest sitting pristinely still in the hallway. The man had closely cropped brown hair and thin lips set above a square-jaw. He wore an unassuming but well-cut suit, one hand clad in a black glove. Ariadne fought not to stare at a purple scar that ran down the right side of his face from hairline to jaw.

"Good morning." The man said softly, his voice sharp.

"Good morning," she returned with a small smile, "are you waiting? May I…get someone for you?" She realized it sounded lame, but she felt obligated nonetheless.

"No thank you," the man said, unmoving expect for forming his words, "I was told Mr. Arthur Darren would be along soon."

"Arthur? Do you know him?" She inclined her head curiously, trying to study his eyes without being obvious. Surely this wasn't the friend Arthur said would be visiting.

"Yes, he asked me to visit him here." The man's voice took on a suspicious note as he remained unmoving. In a word, this man was unnerving, and she was pretty certain one eye must be glass as it conveyed none of the fierce gleam of its mate.

"I'm Ariadne Darren, Arthur's wife." The man's eyebrows quirked in faint surprise.

"Lovely to meet you Ariadne, I'm Eli Glinn." He smoothly extended his non-gloved hand, which she awkwardly shook.

"How long have you known Arthur?" She asked, attempting to make conversation.

"Your husband and I have been…friends for many years."

"Are you in the extracting business, so to speak?"

"On occasion. Only if a job involves use of a PASIV device—it is often useful for forensic profiling," Glinn's eyes held an eerie intensity, "however, I prefer to engineer solutions that are tangible in the real world."

"Engineer?" Ariadne asked curiously. "Is that what you are?"

"Of sorts. I'm president—"

"Eli Glinn." Arthur's voice cut through their conversation as Ariadne turned to see her husband descend the wide, thick-carpeted staircase.

"Arthur Darren." Glinn returned, something of a pursed lip smile on his face as he watched the other man draw close. "You're looking well."

"Thank you," Arthur came to stop, taking Glinn's proffered hand, "you as well. I was sorry to hear of your injuries. Sounds like a hell of a job—meteorite hunting wasn't it?" Glinn's face hardened—which Ariadne didn't think was possible—regarding Arthur with a stone cold look.

"Indeed. That's not public knowledge Darren," Glinn warned, "your sources and information gathering skills continue to impress, but I would be most grateful if you don't go around spreading news of my company's projects. We prefer to work under the radar for a reason."

"My apologies," Arthur inclined his head, "have you yet met my wife?" His eyes landed on Ariadne.

"Yes, we just met," Glinn's little pursed lip smile returned as he looked to Ariadne with a slight nod, "congratulations to you both. How long ago were you married?"

"Few months back." Ariadne answered with a smile, glancing to her sharp-dressed husband.

"Best of luck to you both." Glinn's voice held the same mild tone, his slight smile the only indication he was talking about a happy occasion.

"Well I'll leave you two to catch up," Ariadne said suddenly, not wanting things to turn awkward, "nice to meet you, Eli."

"You too Ariadne." Eli gave a slight nod of his head as Arthur moved behind him, reaching for the door to the lounge. She caught Arthur's little smile before she turned down the hallway as the men disappeared with a soft click of the door. She hurried to the library, hopeful Eleanor wouldn't find her again. Eli Glinn's presence had unnerved her enough as it was.

xxx

"So who's Eli Glinn?" Ariadne drew a deep breath of sea air, soaking in the sunshine, taking the first real chance to speak to Arthur in almost a week.

"He's an old friend." Arthur's sunglasses shielded eyes stared ahead, hair slightly ruffled in the breeze as he piloted the thirty foot sailboat out from shore.

"Yeah, that's what he said, but I'm not buying," she didn't turn to face him, knowing she wouldn't be able to see past his impassive face, "I asked if he was in the extraction business, and he said occasionally." She shook her head, glancing out to a cargo ship in the distance. "I can't help but feel like you planned something with him behind my back."

"That's not how partners work."

"But you've been completely mum on the fact that Cobol is out to kill you and almost succeeded in New York since we got here—and not to mention the man you shot. You haven't even talked about our next move when we leave tomorrow," she turned to regard her husband, "and I know you're not just emotionally distracted by the reunion with your parents." A soft disbelieving laugh left him.

"No," he agreed, "though my parents responded better than I had anticipated. If not exactly warming to the idea of you and me, they at least listened."

"Or just the idea of you," she said knowingly, "your mother's heartbroken you're not who she remembers."

"That's not entirely true."

"You still could have been nicer to her." His lips set in a thin line as he said nothing. "And you were spot on about your father—he all but ignored everyone at dinner the one time I saw him." She stared at him, wishing he wasn't wearing sunglasses. "Why did he keep looking at you almost like he was scared of you, or sizing up an opponent?" A mirthless smile ghosted across his face, the twitch of his facial muscles accented by the sharp sunlight.

"I had a little talk with Sebastian, encouraged him to give up his lying, cheating ways."

"'Encouraged him?'" She looked at him knowingly, sighing despite herself. "What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing that left a mark. I have learned control since our last meeting."

"Yeah, and it governs your every move, even to the point of my annoyance." She shook her head, glancing out over the sailboat bow at the clear water. "What exactly did you threaten him with?" Arthur didn't even need to tell her he had threatened his father. It was obvious enough.

"He finds me dangerous awake, but has no idea what I'm capable of in my sleep." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as her eyes fixed to him. She knew he was often ruthless in dreams, doing whatever it took to get the job done, but that was the only reason he did those things, right?

"Dream terrorism? Really Arthur?" Her voice was small as Arthur stood unmoving. The Areva job instantly sprung to mind. Even then he readily admitted to the brilliance in such an immoral tactic, and against someone as cruel as his father, it seemed the best option. He wasn't above it, but part of him hoped he could avoid it.

"If things don't change Ariadne, I'm coming back—with or without you—and set the man straight. My mother deserves better—she always has—and I can't ignore it anymore." The conviction on his voice was almost overwhelming. She knew him to be fiercely loyal and protective of those he cared about, and this just further proved the point. She couldn't help but smile, finding herself thankful she had such a fiercely devoted man, despite the methods he resorted to.

"Hmm, well we'll have to work on that before we have kids. Can't have you spouting such blind, violent anarchy and devotion. They'll get bad ideas." A smile curled about his lips.

"I already told you once I hope they take after you." She met his smile through their sunglasses shielded eyes.

"Aw, but you were so cute when you were little." Arthur froze, slowly turning to face her, face deadpanned.

"Please tell me she didn't." A wicked smile rivaling Eames' spread across her face. "Oh god…."

"I've never seen a mother so proud of a photo album. Eleanor and I had a nice spot of tea while you met with Eli—and you were downright adorable with Lionel the stuffed lion, or surrounded by Legos, dressed in little suits for piano recitals." He kept scowling as he turned back to the horizon, the tops of his ears reddening. "Gee Arthur, it's really not that bad. Parents show off pictures of their kids—it's what they do."

"That's not the point."

"In any case, I do hope you won't let it poison your mood the rest of the day. You seem to really be enjoying yourself." She watched the muscles in his face relax. "So what's the plan for tomorrow? Not that I'm in a hurry for today to end…." She rolled her head back, eyes closing as the sun warmed her skin. The first day of sun that she could remember.

"No, plans for tomorrow aren't important now," he said dismissively, "I don't want today to be overshadowed by it. We'd spoil a perfect day to be on the water."

The sun had come out shortly after breakfast with clear skies and surprisingly warm temperatures. After a quick trip to town for food and suitable clothing, she found herself in awe of all the yachts and sailboats anchored at the prestigious Grindstone Point Yacht Club. The Darren's sailboat _Annette, _while not the most extravagant boat in the vicinity, was still very refined and luxurious in its points. And Arthur handled her with the experienced smoothness worthy of such a fine lady. Ariadne had long ago stopped being surprised at the secret stash of skills Arthur possessed and slowly revealed. She ran through the mental list—card counting, cooking, lock picking, now sailing—and wondered what would be next.

They spent the better part of several hours sailing along through the open water off the Maine coast, taking in the rocky coastline and the sparkling dark blue water dotted by rocky islands. Ariadne hadn't grown up exposed to boats, but was enjoying herself now more than she ever had before. Arthur was a diligent teacher and gracious as he rattled off seaman terminology, repeating himself and indulging her curiosity, watching her face light up with pride when she helped him tack the sail to continue on their upwind course. Eventually they dropped anchor on a sheltered—leeward, Arthur had called it—side of a larger island, in which to spend the rest of the day and night.

Ariadne had moved to the bow, sprawled out now on cushions, soaking up the sunlight in her khaki cotton pants and navy blue zippered hoody. She couldn't keep the smile from her face, nor could she remember being this happy and relaxed since the honeymoon. They would definitely have to get a sailboat once this Cobol mess blew over—it was just too much fun. Given Arthur's growing ease while free on the water today, she was sure he probably wouldn't mind. She stretched wide and drew a deep breath, undoing the jacket of her zipper a bit to reveal the bikini top she wore beneath, loving the warmth on her skin.

Soft music sounded in the background, accented by bare footsteps on the deck, and she rolled her head to face him with a smile, eyes widening at the sight before her.

"Blinding." He laughed softly at her dry tone.

"I've never been one for tanning." He dropped a fluffy white towel on the bench next to her, noticing through his sunglasses her eyes glued to his swimsuit clad only form. God, she could just stare at his lean, whipcord body all day. She knew he worked to keep it looking so good, and it only made her wish he showed it off more.

"You cannot be serious." She asked as she watched him unhook one of the railings on the side of the boat. "It's barley 50 degrees…that water can't be much above 40 degrees."

"44 actually." He turned back with a smug smirk.

"And you're going swimming?"

"Boys will be boys." Her eyes widened as he smoothly dove off, shades and all, splashing into the cold water below. She couldn't believe he had actually done it. She rose from the bench, still in shock, glancing down to see him moving through the water.

"I think I see you shivering." She called out teasingly.

"Not on your life." He ducked back under the water, surfacing to float on his back, heaving a deep sigh as his sunglasses shielded eyes turned skyward. "Its invigorating, relaxing in its own way—takes your mind off everything…a nice escape."

"From your mother?"

"Sometimes." She watched him continue to float, beads of water on his face and shades, hair drifting lazily in the water behind him. He just looked too relaxed—he could be swimming in the Caribbean for all she knew. She reached for the zipper on her jacket, shrugging it from her shoulders, fully revealing the bikini top, knowing she would probably regret this. She kicked her pants aside, squaring him up in her sight before running off the edge of the boat. The cold water hit her like a punch in the chest, forcing the air out of her as she landed next to him in a big splash.

"Holy shit," she spit out as she surfaced, her bottom jaw instantly chattering, watching a wide smile come to his face, "and you find this relaxing?" He kept his smile as she swam over to her. "There is something wrong with you, you know."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her body to his. God, how was he managing to radiate heat in this water?

"Makes you feel alive, doesn't it?" His voice was low in her ear. "It's a firm grip to reality. No dream can capture cold this piercing." She shivered, not so much from the cold, but the intensity of his voice. "But we should probably get out."

"W-w-w-w-w-why is that?" She forced the words past her chattering teeth.

"Your lips are turning blue." He kissed her cheek, removing his arm from her waist, seeing her shiver at the loss of contact. They swam for the stern of the boat, and quickly scurried up the ladder with her shivering the whole way. It wasn't until she settled her back to Arthur's chest, both covered by big fluffy towels on the bow cushions in the sunshine did her shivering subside. She smiled against her husband's skin as he held her close, both enjoying the peace of the moment.

"So what was with your earlier comment?" She asked quietly. "The 'boys will be boys.'"

"Growing up, it was a competition of sorts—nothing more than a glorified game of chicken, really—amongst the boys at the yacht club to see who was toughest by going swimming earliest in the year, and then who could stay in the water the longest."

"That doesn't sound exactly safe."

"It probably wasn't the smartest idea, but nothing bad came from it."

"Did you ever win?" She snuggled against him, listening to his heart beat.

"Not even close." He dropped a kiss to her forehead.

"But you have the highest tolerance of anyone I know for physical pain and discomfort. How could you possibly have been beaten every time?"

"That tolerance was a byproduct of my job. I was a classic example of a 97-pound weakling before leaving home."

"Well I know for a fact you still don't weight much more than that." A laugh rumbled in his chest as his lips curled to a relaxed smile.

"Thanks babe." She curled up closer to him, eyes growing heavy as a relaxed sigh passed her lips. Even he let his head roll back against the cushions, eyes closing, enjoying her closeness and the warmth of the afternoon after such an invigorating swim. It was almost two hours later before either one opened their eyes.

X

The remains of a grilled salmon and asparagus dinner sat before them as they watched the last rays of sun disappear. Waves gently lapped against the hull, soft music of Arthur's style played softly in the background, the cockpit bathed in warm firelight from a built-in fire pit. Arthur loved the happy glow in Ariadne's eyes, the relaxed, plentiful smiles he'd seen all day. God what he wouldn't give to keep life this peaceful all the time. For the first time ever, a flash of guilt about his career choice flashed through him. He had never counted himself lucky enough to find a woman like Ariadne, so it had never been a problem before. But now as he watched her shoulders swaying, head joining in to move to the beat of the music, with a private sexy smile on her face, he resolved to do whatever it took to make up for all the shit in his past so he could simply just live with this woman.

"Do you fancy a dance?" He asked quietly, watching her instantly freeze her pseudo-dance movements, turning to him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I have only seen you dance once—at the Musee d'Orsay opening we crashed for work—and you didn't seem to enjoy it."

"Like you said, we were there for work."

"Business before pleasure, that's you to a tee."

"I'm trying to work on that. So would you care for a dance?" She glanced around, not really seeing any room to dance, the cockpit was small to begin with, had a fire pit in the middle and lined with benches.

"Not unless your parents keep a portable dance floor on board." He laughed softly as she watched his khaki slack, untucked white button-down shirt and navy knit pullover sweater clad body rise.

"Not exactly. Come on." He extended a hand down and she reached for it, letting him pull her up, the blanket on her legs falling to the deck. He led her out of the cockpit, greeted by the cold night breeze that the fire pit warded off and up the gunwale to the bow. He pulled her in close against him, settling an arm to encircle her waist as her hand settled on his back. A smile came to her face as he started moving them to the slightly jazzy though smooth tune. His catlike grace made his dancing seamless as he moved them in small circles, hips lightly swaying to the music, leading her with practiced control. Damn, what didn't this man know how to do?

"I'm going to send you out for a spin." He said softly to which she nodded before he let go her waist and spun her gently out of his arms. The song drew to a close as he brought her back in, dipping her backwards tucked against his side. He never wanted to forget her infectious laugh and smile in her brown eyes. At this moment, with her in his arms, life was perfect.

"Where ever did you learn to dance like that? You're very good."

"My mother taught me. The Yacht Club had four or five formal dances a year, and she said there was no better way to a woman's heart than dancing." Ariadne laughed again.

"Well I'm sorry I made it too easy for you." He righted her, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. Hands enclosed they moved back down the gunwale to the cockpit, both enjoying the warmth of the fire. She settled back under the blanket as he cleared their dishes, taking them down below. She sighed, wondering what she had done to deserve to him. He was so much more than he let the world see. She knew it was part of his job—the tough-as-nails persona, the cold, clipped attitude—and she felt privileged beyond words that he chose her to share all this with. The only word she could find for the day was perfect, and it bothered her. Not even their honeymoon had been this carefree and revealing. So why now?

The smile came back to her face as she watched him emerge from the cabin, two champagne flutes in hand.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were about to propose." She caught his small smile as he settled under the blanket next to her, handing her a flute.

"Well I've already done that."

"So then why this absolutely wonderful day? I don't know, it's like you're trying to make up for something."

"I simply acknowledge you gave up what would be an easier life when you chose to marry an international thief currently on the run for his life. The peaceful times deserve to be celebrated." He paused for a sip of champagne. "I don't want to hurt your Ariadne, but I fear it's inevitable."

"Why is it inevitable?" She turned to face him, meeting heavy eyes.

"You can't expect us both to get out of this unscathed. Or once this episode ends, that another won't start."

"What aren't you telling me?" His eyes had always spoke volumes more than his words if you knew what to look for.

"You don't know how genuinely afraid I am of losing you because of all this. Marriages have crumbled under much less." The underlying emotion weighed heavily in his eyes, belied by his cool collected tone as though he was merely stating a fact.

"Till death do us part, remember?" She watched his eyes fall closed, head slightly dip as she leaned in to place a slow kiss to his cheek. "We've been through this—I'm not going anywhere. Please believe me…you're ruining what would otherwise a seductively romantic evening." A thin smile ghosted across his face as he turned again to look at her, his eyes considerably lighter.

"Forgive me, love. It's in my nature." He leaned in to her neck, kissing the sweet spot just beneath her ear, loving the low hum of appreciation in her throat. He resolved to make tonight about her—whatever she wanted from him, he would gladly give.

The champagne was slowly disappearing, kisses becoming more frequent and heated, free hands searching under the blanket for traces of skin. She moved closer to his embrace, drowning in the warmth from his body, a flush on her cheeks from the champagne. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, placing the occasional kiss as his fingers dipped under the hem on her shirt, tracing gentle lines that rocketed waves of desire up her spine. Her breathing grew uneven as his slender fingers snuck under her bra, circling and teasing the soft, pert flesh.

"Are you cold?" He whispered teasingly against her neck, peppering in kisses as his fingers continued to tease her breast.

"Not even close."

"Could have fooled me." He brought his fingers together in a gentle pinch, growing hard as the pleasured moan left her.

"God Arthur…." She breathed, soon finding her lips covered in his. Long, heated, loving, maddeningly slow kisses passed between them, his fingers continuing to tease her, trace down the lines of her body. She ached to touch him, to know nothing more than the feel of his body tight against hers, deep within her. He pried the forgotten champagne flute from her hand, moving to set it next to his on the table, leaning his body forward as she laid back on the bench cushions. Her hands roamed over his back, working up under his button down and sweater, drifting down to give his ass a hard squeeze, forcing his hips to grind down against hers. She melted at the groan in his throat, feeling his arousal hard against her.

"Not yet." He breathed through the kiss, moving his lips to her cheek, her ear, down her neck, placing kisses and nibbles as he went. She shivered in the night air as he moved down her body, taking the blanket with him.

"Cold love?" He asked again, looking up with sharp eyes that saw only her.

"This time, yes." He rose off her, quickly putting out the fire in the fire pit as he heard her pad across the cockpit, disappearing into the cabin below. He turned everything else off for the night and quickly followed her below, a smile coming to his face as he saw her laying on the bed on her back, propped on her elbows, hair flowing behind her, eyes smoldering.

"Sweater, shirt—lose 'em." She said as he entered the small bedroom. With a flash of a wicked smirk, he crossed his arms about his torso and smoothly pulled off the button down and sweater, revealing his smooth, toned chest.

"Is that better?" He asked as he neared the bed.

"Much." He crawled over her, eyes predatory, a bolt of liquid hot want shooting through her. He pressed his hips to hers, keeping the rest of his body hovering within arm's reach. She sighed at the contact, letting her hips thrust gently against his. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowered to let his lips brush hers, feeling her arms wrap around him, attempting to drag him down to her.

"What did I tell you topside?" He lightly scolded, breath hot against her lips. "Not yet." He resumed his trail of kisses down her body, easing up and removing her sweater, shirt and bra, teasing and lavishing her skin with great care, feeling her squirm beneath him. He moved a hand to her waist, easing her out of her underwear and pants, aided as she raised her hips and kicked the offending garments fully off. She lost all coherent thought as his tongue settled to her aching throb.

She arched her hips to him, drowning in sensations from his tongue as he sucked, licked against her wet folds. He grew harder at the moan in her throat as his fingers joined his tongue, settling to deliciously tease her. A hand fisted in his hair, the other settling to rake against his shoulder before he pulled back, removing his pants and boxers. He returned to her arm's reach, leaving his fingers behind to continue making her squirm, driving the tension higher as he moved back up her body. He pressed his lips to the skin beneath her ear with a nibble, positioning his hips between hers. White light exploded behind closed eyes as he pushed slowly, deeply inside with a guttural groan. She was so incredibly tight, only growing tighter as his fingers continued to work her body higher while he moved slowly within her. Her toes curled, so close to release, just needing more—one more pinch of his fingers, one more thrust of his hips.

_Thump, thump, thump! "U.S. Coastguard!" _

They both instantly froze, eyes wide open, darting to the cracked porthole next to them.

"Shit…." Arthur muttered under his breath with a reluctant sigh, pulling out and getting up from the berth. Ariadne instantly dove under the covers, mortified beyond words. When next she looked up, Arthur was clothed in his khaki slacks from earlier, adjusting his knit pullover sweater. "Stay here." His voice was soft and firm, all trace of his earlier tenderness gone.

He closed the bedroom door behind him, reaching for the registration tucked in the cabin's console before going topside. He opened the door to the night air, squinting in the bright light from the coastguard's spotlights.

"Good evening. Sorry to bother you." A voice from the other boat called out as Arthur's eyes adjusted.

"Evening," Arthur coolly returned, "is there a problem?" Arthur glanced at the other boat, noticing hands on the bow and stern, gripping the _Annette's_ railings, keeping the coastguard boat from bumping into the hull. Fortunately it was calm water or Arthur would have made them back off until he could put out fenders so the hull wouldn't get scratched or damaged.

"No problem, would just like to see your registration if I may, please?" Arthur stepped over to the railing passing the paper over. "Sail from Winter Harbor?" The officer asked.

"Grindstone Point Yacht Club actually." The officer's eyes widened. Arthur knew that name carried some weight in this water.

"But of course sir, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

"As well you should be." An arrogant tone crept to Arthur's words, making Ariadne perk her ears.

"Well I'm just doing my job sir, we've had recent trouble with international ships in our water without clearance."

"Please save your stories for someone else and focus on the matter at hand." Even Ariadne was starting to grow disgusted with Arthur's attitude, but knowing he was born and bred to be an arrogant snob. He sure did pull it off well.

"Yes sir," the officer continued, a slight nervous tremor on his voice, "are you alone on the boat?"

"No, my wife is down below."

"Could she please join us topside?"

"I'm afraid not, she is indecent at the moment, as it were." Ariadne's cheeks flushed, pulling the covers up higher, amazed at the cool, even tone on Arthur's voice.

"Oh…oh!" She buried her face in the pillow, mortified all over again, as recognition dawned on the officer's words. "Well, um, if you'll just show us your life-jackets, throwable cushion and fire extinguisher, we won't take up any more of your night." She heard shuffling on the deck as Arthur's dug out the requested items.

"Looks good," the officer said, nodding in approval, handing the registration back to Arthur, "thank you again sir, and please, forgive the inconvenience and enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too." Arthur gave a curt nod as the other boat's engine roared to life and they pushed off from the railings, taking off in the darkness. Arthur let loose a relieved sigh, shaking his head before going below. She sighed, relaxing against the bed as Arthur opened the cabin door, falling backwards on the bed, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't exactly how he had planned for the evening to end—it should have ended with them sweaty and sated, wrapped in the covers, finishing off the champagne. Leave it to the Coast Guard to spoil the mood.

"Well," Ariadne said softly at length, "there's a story we certainly can't tell our children."

xxx

Thanks for reading! While this may seem like a useless filler/fluff chapter, it does have a purpose (Arthur always has a plan…)…stay tuned!


	14. Shatter

Short little (comparatively) installment, but hopefully good quality. Thank you all for your continued support-its very encouraging-and I hope you continue to enjoy!

xx

Chapter 14: Shatter

Her coffee had long gone cold. She just couldn't stomach anything. Everything was moving so fast. Not two days ago they were safe in Maine, enjoying a day on the water. She had almost wanted to beg him to stay. And now suddenly back in New York, they were waiting. Just waiting. The plan was too simple. It made her nervous. So nervous.

She forced a sigh, fighting to slow her raging thoughts, her stomach lurching itself in tighter knots.

"I don't like this Arthur. Not at all." She cast him a glance across the table, hating how damn composed he was. Despite her better knowledge, the man just couldn't be human.

"What don't you like?" His voice was sharp, determined, eyes never wavering from the target location across the street.

"This plan. It's too obvious and easy. You surely didn't need a week at home to think of it."

"The simplest plans can often be the most difficult and elusive to plan. We, as people, often tend to over complicate things."

"But we're just sitting here…waiting. Making ourselves—yourself—a sitting duck. Just because we called Eames on my cell phone doesn't mean the agents are going to come here."

"I beg to differ. After their miss on our last New York visit, they can't afford to let your signal go. Cobol's disgusting predictability will only work in our favor." She slumped back against her seat, heaving a frustrated sigh. She felt like he wasn't even listening to her. It was his plan and she just happened to be there. Could the point man spare no words of comfort? She almost couldn't believe him the same man who took her sailing and asked her to dance…the man ran so hot and cold, it was almost a wonder she continued to put up with it.

"I apologize Ariadne," his voice was no gentler as she looked up, eyes wide, afraid for a second he had heard her thoughts, "I've put myself on the front line enough that it's second nature for me. My first time though, I was nervous as hell. I forgot how unsettling it can be."

"You do this often on jobs—set yourself up as bait essentially?"

"Not often, only if a job goes south. Last time was Kiev, five years ago."

"What happened?" She had to ask.

"I left myself purposefully exposed to our pursuers, to draw their fire until the rest of the team got away clean. They caught me eventually, and after three days of starvation and interrogation in a hellhole of a prison, I escaped in the first opening they gave me."

"Oh my god." Her face fell, stomach knots tightening to the point of nausea and near panic. "I didn't need to know all of that…that's not helping right now." She wrapped her arms around her torso in a makeshift hug. If Arthur noticed, he gave no indication. He was on high alert—eyes ever vigilant, calculating, professional—this was about the job, protecting lives. She knew he meant it for the best, but dammit, he'd given her no warning and she had to deal with it on the fly. She would have appreciated knowing he was turning them into bait for the agents. She couldn't really believe it honestly.

Her anxiety grew to annoyance as she continued to look at him—he wasn't treating her as an equal partner, but more like a scared little kid. Never mind that's exactly how she felt, but she wouldn't be so damn scared it she knew what was going on. Or so she hoped.

"Arthur—"

"There he is." Arthur's voice held a deadly tone, his face hardening, jaw clenching. Ariadne's head darted up, eyes wide as they landed on the stone-faced man in the trench coat from the hotel.

"Oh god," she breathed a panicked breath, "oh god…." And here they were, camped out at a café across the street, just sitting in plain view. Arthur had been absolutely right. Just one call from her cell phone and the agents descended. She sighed nervously, some of her trust in Arthur returning. He hadn't lead her astray, no matter how much he kept her in the dark. Though she had no clue what happened next. Her heart started to race, fighting to keep breathing, just watching, still waiting. The agent milled seemingly casually about the street corner as though waiting for something or someone.

"Stay here." Arthur rose from the table on his words, striding away to cross the street before she could speak. She glowered after him, now absolutely fuming. Damn him to hell for just leaving her here—they were supposed to be partners, and he left her without an explanation and just an order. He was going to get a fucking earful when he came back—she was so sick of this secretive shit. She watched him start across the street, bottom of his coat flaring out as he walked, the agent oblivious.

A gunshot sounded, blood filled the air and time stopped.

She drew in a sudden breath, watching stunned, anger draining, as blood exploded out the left side of Arthur's chest. People around started screaming, moving away from the bullet stricken man as he fell towards the pavement. Paralyzed, Ariadne watched helpless as his body collided to the ground, unmoving, a pool of blood growing. Too shocked for coherent thought, she rose from the table, unblinking, moving to join the crowd of onlookers. Sirens grew steadily louder in the distance. She drew in a shaky sob.

"Move…move!" She suddenly started yelling with increased urgency, prying her way through the random people, dropping to her knees at Arthur's side, biting her lip to attempt to keep tears at bay. She reached a tentative hand out, not sure if she should touch him, eventually letting it settle to his forehead in a gentle caress. She couldn't stop the sudden well of panic and immediate loss as he lay still. Her breath came out a trembling shiver as tears fell freely down her face, her free hand rising to cover her mouth, eyes sinking closed as reality hit. A few onlookers had tears of their own as they watched the young woman near convulsions at this man's side. A throng of EMTs pushed their way through the crowd, taking in the man's body and the woman at his side.

"Ma'am? I'm going to need you step back." One EMT settled on Ariadne, tone calm, placating as she raised red, tear filled eyes.

"I can't leave him. He's my husband." She choked the words out as the EMT pried her hand away and she watched the others tend to Arthur.

"I'm sorry, but we need to get him help." She looked around the paramedic's shoulder as they tried for Arthur's pulse, attempting to revive him. Quickly she turned her head away, fighting back sobs against her hand. Unable to watch anymore, willing this to be some horrid nightmare she fought to drown out the sounds around her, bits and fragments breaking through.

"Attempts to resuscitate failed…dead on site…Coroner to confirm…need positive ID….homicide…ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am?" Sniffling, she turned her head, taking in the policeman now before her, noticing Arthur's body now covered in a white sheet still lying in the street.

"I'm Officer Griggs. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm given to understand you were this man's wife." She nodded.

"Yes, I…was." She fought a fresh wave at the past tense word.

"Did you see the shot?" She nodded. "Did you see where it came from?"

"No." She choked out the answer, voice strained, small.

"May I have your name, please? And his?" The officer offered up a small sympathetic smile.

"Ariadne Darren," she swallowed heavily on the end of her words, "my husband is Arthur Darren." The officer's face fell to a severe questioning look.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Darren, but this man's wallet has him identified as Robert Duchamp." Her eyes widened, suddenly remembering. Fuck, shit, damn. She had completely forgotten about their cover names. She rose her hand to her mouth, eyes sinking, knowing she had ruined every chance. "I would need to see some positive ID from you to relate yourself to this man, whatever your name may be. Until then, as he is a victim of a homicide, I will need you to get back."

"No…please." She mumbled against her hand desperate not to be separated from Arthur.

"Ma'am, please. I don't want to ask again." She choked back another racking sob, shakily rising to her feet, watching with trembling lips as Arthur's body was enclosed in a lifeless black bag, hidden from the world. Shocked and reeling, she stumbled through the crowd, more lost and alone than she'd ever felt.

Numbly she wound her way back to the hotel, not bothering with the stares of strangers who looked on curiously at the girl with puffy red eyes, who occasionally choked back sobs. She fell face first on the bed, letting go, crying, screaming, angry at the world—at Cobol, at Arthur, herself, the EMTs, the police officer—anyone who had a hand in his death. She clawed at the sheets, unable to believe he was gone from her life. So simply, so quick. Her dreams shattered, heart aching as trembling lips sounded his name in the empty room.

"Arthur…"

xxx

The red cloud of blood erupting Arthur's chest would not leave her mind. It was all she could do to not lose it again on the plane ride home. From the hotel, to the airport to the grueling plane ride and final taxi ride home, she felt her chest would burst. She reached the apartment foyer, dropping to her knees body racking with sobbing heaves.

She had only just found him in her life and wasn't ready yet to let him go. He would take time to get over. She glanced numbly about the apartment, eyeing everything that reminded her of him. Hell the cleanliness alone was enough to fill her with memories of his pressed suits, slick hair and penchant for fine bourbon.

The days that followed blended together in shades of gray and black as the spring rains settled over the city. She spent most of it aimlessly lingering about the apartment, numbly moving from the couch to the bed to the occasional chair, not really watching the tv or reading the computer screen in front of her. She needed this, the time to pick up the pieces of her new found life now so suddenly shattered.

Her cell phone was back on these days. Now that Arthur was dead, Cobol shouldn't care about coming after her. Never before had she stared so longingly at an object, as if she was just waiting for a call from him to confirm it had been some horrendous nightmare. But only silence. She knew she had calls to make, and as she worked up the courage to actually dial the first number, she could only hope to keep her voice steady. Just as she expected, the call went straight to voicemail.

"Eames, it's Ariadne," she swallowed hard, "I…I just wanted to tell you…Arthur was shot and killed," her throat choked up and she fought back a sob, breathing deep, "last week in New York." She drew a shaky breath, having just said the words for the first time. "I-I just thought you should know. He would want you to." Her head dropped and she fought for what to say next, hating the pause being recorded. "Um, I'm back at the apartment in Paris with my cell on if you want to call. It would be nice to hear a familiar voice." She quickly hung up, slumping face first onto the couch, not caring to stop the tears in her eyes. Dammit, why did she have to cry again? She hated crying.

The days continued, blurring into almost two weeks since her return. She was starting to feel better about it, trying to bury the pain and move on. She kept thinking what he would want her to do. Soon after her return, she pulled his wedding ring—a simple band of polished and brushed white gold, single small, square diamond—out of his bedside table. It fit her left thumb near perfectly—a solid reminder he was once part of her life and would always be with her now. And as much as it kept her going and somewhat functioning, it also broke her heart.

She reached for the remote, quickly changing the channel away the movie she'd settled on. She wasn't in the mood for a love scene, not matter how action packed the movie. Suddenly her ears perked at the familiar sound from the foyer of the door opening. Slowly she turned her head, forcing a hard swallow as she stared numbly towards the foyer, the sound of hindered footsteps accented by a steady, sharp tap reaching her ears. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes as the familiar face rounded the corner.

"Eames, oh my god...," her eyes fell to his limping gait, the cane in his hand, "oh my god, what happened?" Concern registered on her face as she watched him more enter the living room, looking like his usual self, save for the cane and his lack of smile.

"It's not important at the moment," he said with a dismissive shake of his head as he pulled his bag from around his shoulder, dropping it to the floor behind the couch, "what is, is me sitting down and hearing about Arthur."

"God Eames," she started, shaking her head, feeling her throat constrict, "I don't know if I can talk about it…I was just starting to get over it. I…I don't want to lose it again."

"Well then, you're clearly not over it." He rounded the couch, his pace slow but steady as her eyes fell to his left foot, expecting to see a cast or something, but only a shoe.

"Eames," she said her voice near pleading, "what happened to you? Please tell me." He settled on the couch next to her, locking his eyes to her.

"I have to know about Arthur first. How did those bastards get him?" His teeth grit over his last words, a mere hint of concealed rage.

"I don't know…I—we…," she stopped, her eyes falling closed as she pieced the words together, "they found us in New York, through my cell signal. Somehow, they found out my number and tracked the signal. A sniper took a shot at Arthur in our hotel one night, and Arthur got us out and up to his parents' house in Maine." She shook her head, breathing deep for the hard part. "We returned to New York to bait the agents with my phone signal. It worked—they showed up in broad daylight as we sat in a café across the street, and suddenly Arthur got up and walked over towards the agent…," she bit her lip, "the shot rang out, and hit him in the chest…the EMTs declared him dead onsite." A tear escaped her eye. "They wouldn't let me near him." Her bottom lip quivered as her head fell, the memory of his body slumping to the ground replayed in her mind.

The weight on the couch shifted and warm, strong arms suddenly wrapped around her, holding her powerfully tight. She slumped against his chest, drowning in faint hints of spice and smoke, sobbing uncontrollably. She had forgotten what a simple comfort it was to just be held. He rested his head against hers, his eyes squeezed shut as he processed everything she said. He hadn't wanted to believe her on the phone. He just couldn't believe someone as careful and smart as Arthur had been ultimately outdone. He'd been on hand for Arthur's closest brush with death in Kiev, and believed after that Arthur could survive anything. But one bullet was enough to prove him wrong.

He settled back against the couch cushions, just content to hold her. He turned his head, eyes roaming the apartment—the occasional dirty dish, errant newspaper or article of clothing spoke more to Arthur's absence than anything, the first real pang of loss tearing through the forger's heart. She turned her head in his embrace, sniffling and sighing, settling on the steady beating of his heart.

"God Eames, I'm glad you're here. I needed that." She said at length, remaining still in his arms.

"You sounded like it in your message." She sniffed in response, hoping she wouldn't cry anymore. She'd cried enough in the last few weeks to last her for years. "They found your phone number through me. They were tracking my calls and messages. Using your number was smarter than using Arthur's, and since it was still under your maiden name, they wouldn't link you to him. But they found your number, and subsequently your name, and confronted me about it. Told them I met you on my last Paris job, that I didn't know if you knew this Arthur character. Their man had already found you two in New York and they caught me in my lie. As such, I'm missing two toes off my left foot. They only took one, but by the time I came to and hobbled to a hospital—which aren't top notch in Mombasa anyway—the second was already lost to infection."

"Oh my god." She reluctantly raised her head from his chest to meet his eyes. "How long ago?"

"I don't know if it was before or after their man took his missed shot at you. My guess is before, so a couple weeks ago."

"Will you always have to walk with a cane?" He smiled a weak, wry smile.

"Depends. You'd be surprised how much we use our little toes for balance when we stand or walk. I'm told I'll get used to it eventually, but no one can say how long eventually is." He pained at the look on her face—the dark, puffy circles under her eyes devoid of their usual spark, her hollow cheeks and pale lips.

"God, I am so sorry Eames. I didn't know. Did you tell Arthur?"

"No," a longing sounded on Eames' voice, a distant smile coming to his face, "he had enough to worry about in what were his final days. And please, don't be sorry. I'm not—protecting Arthur, and yourself, was worth it. I'm only sad I wasn't there to shoot the bastard myself after Arthur was taken out." A thin smile ghosted over her face as his hand rose to brush a stand of hair back.

"The agent didn't even move…I have been asking myself if it was him who shot Arthur….I don't remember," she shook her head, voice strained, "Arthur got hit and I lost track of everything else."

"You can't keep torturing yourself. There's no way to know." Again he tucked back an errant strand of her hair. "You look ghastly, love. Haven't you been sleeping?"

"Not very well," she admitted, "it's hard when I close my eyes and all I see is him, falling to the street or laying in a pool of blood….they wouldn't even let me near him. I tried to tell them we were married…but I didn't remember the name on the ID he had. So they just took him away, body bag and all. I don't know where he is or what happened to him." Her words ended on a sniffle as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

"You can't do this to yourself, Ariadne," he said softly, drawing her back against him as her arms wrapped around him, "you won't do his memory any good if that's what you focus on. Think on his habits that annoyed you—his obsession with control and order. The jealousy at how perfect he always looked. The fortune you'll save not buying industrial strength hair gel." A laugh bubbled out of her, her lips curling to a thin smile. "That's a girl." He said encouragingly, placing a kiss on her brow.

"I hope you've come to stay a while." She said, tightening her hold.

"As long as I'm welcome." She sighed against him, wanting to burrow in his warmth and never move. Gradually her eyes grew heavy, content and peaceful for the first time since her return to Paris.

xxx

Thanks for reading! And please, don't let Arthur getting shot chase you away from the rest of the story! Those who stick it out will be greatly rewarded…stay tuned!


	15. Rebuild

Wow, the response on the last chapter was amazing! Thank you, thank you! I'm so glad (despite what happened) that so many of y'all are enjoying it still and took the time to drop me a line. I hope this next installment doesn't disappoint (or if it does, just let me know!).

xxx

Chapter 15: Rebuild

34 days. 34 days and one morning actually. Not that she was counting (officially). Today was her birthday after all, so she couldn't help but keep track of dates. She had never been one for big birthday celebrations, and Arthur had known that without having to ask. Every year—of the only two they were together—he had flowers and a mug of rare, exquisite Chinese white tea waiting on her birthday morning. And Arthur, ever a man of elegant and unique taste, had outdone himself on the flowers—orchids from the Caribbean, dahlias from South America—all stunning and unique, just as he claimed she was. She had almost cried the first time, and by the second she was already looking forward to a life of birthdays filled with flowers, tea and Arthur.

But no flowers or tea were waiting this morning. It had just been another morning like any other of the past fifteen days since Eames' arrival. Well, she'd be lying to say it was just like any other. Her frustration—both mentally and sexually—was steadily growing, and this morning she had all but begged Eames to take her in bed. Since his arrival, she'd only spent a couple of nights apart from him, and waking up to his warm, solid body every morning was slowly driving her mad. Truth be told, she'd been pent up since the interruption on the sailboat and her hand just wasn't cutting it.

That, coupled with her raging thoughts, lead her continually back to one word—frustrated. Without a funeral or memorial service, closure was hard to come by. She had long accepted that she didn't get to say goodbye, never would, and that life chugged on anyway. But still she replayed the events of that day over in her mind, frustration mounting every time. There were just too many questions and no answers. Every time she even started wondering aloud in hopes to clear her mind—who had actually shot him? What did he know that he didn't tell?—Eames would effectively remind her there was no way she could ever know. She still painfully missed him, but the frustration kept the grief at bay and let her move on with life.

"Eames?" She suddenly called out from her sprawled position on the couch to the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"Will you go out with me tonight?"

"Why? I'm not your boyfriend."

"That's not what I'm asking. I just want to go out to some place nice, get dressed up, drink expensive wine, have some fun."

She didn't want to tell him it was her birthday. No gesture could ever match Arthur's, but going out for a nice dinner would do for right now. And maybe, just maybe, she could seduce Eames beyond his self-control to finally just fuck her. She realized how crass it sounded. But it'd been two weeks of near constant teasing. And oh god, the teasing alone was enough to near make her pin him to a wall. She hated to admit it, but she was only human, and it had simply been too long. Eames was everything male, and they both knew from before the attraction existed. Yet he remained in control every morning, keeping the kisses and touches to a minimum, never mind how she threw herself at him. She was dying to know why he was still showing restraint. He hadn't even been this guarded the night they made out after doing body shots when she was married.

If he didn't give her what she wanted tonight, she might just have to kick him out and find some other guy to satisfy her. Though she was sure Arthur would rather it be Eames than some Joe from the nearest bar. She spun Arthur's wedding ring on her thumb, bringing it to her lips for a kiss, a new, frequent habit. Arthur, of all people, should understand her attraction and desire for Eames, ever the fucking sexy flirt. And every little encounter these days seemed to get progressively more seductive. She sighed in the silence, waiting for his response, remembering.

"_You look bored."_

"_Do I?" He had been content to entertain himself with a catnap on the couch in the sunshine while she was out. It was in this position she found him on her return—long body stretched out on the couch, feet free of socks revealing his left foot devoid of two small toes, wrapped in gauze. _

"_Yeah, you do," she continued, "so let's do something constructive." She moved through the living room, throwing open the doors to the balcony, stepping out into the fresh air._

"_And just what do you suggest?" He rose to a sitting position on the couch, stretching his arms. _

"_Getting your balance back for walking. That cane really throws off your image." He sat up, swinging his feet down, glancing around, an annoyed smirk coming to his face. _

"_It would appear you've stranded me." Her wicked smile left little question as to what happened to his missing cane. _

"_Well you seem like an all or nothing kind of guy, not a step-by-step learner."_

"_Don't you think you're funny."_

"_Sometimes." He looked away with a slight laugh. _

"_Well you're missing one crucial element, my dear. You have to give me some incentive to come to you. Yes, eventually I will have to get up, but if not by your doing, this little exercise fails." He fished in his pants pockets coming up empty, reaching for his jacket on the end of the couch. _

"_Missing something?" She asked coyly._

"_Yeah, my—," he stopped as his eyes locked to the small box and lighter in her hand, "oh you're cruel." _

"_Not cruel, opportunistic. You're not addicted enough that you'll get sick without them, but after such a relaxing, warm nap, wouldn't a long drag, the nicotine rush to your head, be absolute heaven?" His eyes narrowed, fighting not to listen to her. But dammit, she was right. He watched as she titled her head back, shaking her hair over her shoulders in the breeze and sunshine. Not even her tight fitting, sleeveless red square-cut top could distract him from the box in her hand. Her words kept echoing in his head. _

"_How did you even get those from me anyway?" He suddenly asked, turning from her, hoping maybe that would help his craving. _

"_You weren't the only one with tricks up his sleeve. Arthur knew a thing or two about sleight of hand, and I was his ever willing student." _

"_I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. Arthur always seemed so upfront." _

"_That's what he wanted you to think, it made him that much trickier. You know he used to count cards once upon a time in his career as a so-called gentleman thief."_

"_He did?" Eames turned back to her, eyes curiously alight. "Damn, I knew I loved him for some reason. To think of all the money he could have saved me."_

"_He didn't do it anymore these days. Said he would be noticed if he tried."_

"_He always was too modest." _

"_And you're straying from the subject." She waved the small box, watching his eyes land on it, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Well if you're just going to sit there, guess I'll just have one."_

"_You don't smoke," he quickly said, "so don't waste one." If a whiff of smoke drifted in through the open door, that would be his ultimate undoing. _

"_We'll see." She tapped the pack against her hand, fishing a cigarette out, bringing it to her lips as she flicked the lighter, cupping her free hand around the end. She pulled her hand back, blowing out a puff of smoke. He watched near slack-jawed as she took a long drag, smoothly exhaling without coughing or turning green, the smoke curling in wisps above her head. The addicting smell wafted his direction, immediately drawing a deep breath to bring as much in his lungs as he could. _

"_Damn you, woman," he rose with a good natured tone, "you win." He took a ginger step, fighting back a wince. His next step was equally as shaky, snapping his arms back to his side when he would catch them moving out to stabilize his movements. She watched him, impressed with his progress. She had no idea how it felt to be devoid of two toes, but as she observed him learning to walk all over again, she could only hope it never happened to her. Gradually his steps grew smoother as he shifted the way he carried his weight, careful to avoid sudden movements to the left. God, he would have to learn to run and fight all over again—this was a whole new way of walking. _

"_Bravo," she said with a wide smile as he crossed out onto the balcony, his limp slight, "I'm very impressed."_

"_I've always been a fast learner." He said on a rushed breath as he reached her, taking her hand in his and turning it till his lips met the cigarette. He drew a deep breath, eyes drifting closed momentarily as the smoke invaded his senses before releasing a breath. "I don't know how Arthur could stand being around you," a delightfully wicked smirk came to his face, resonating in his eyes as they locked to hers sending a wave of desire up her spine, "you're an absolute fucking tease." _

He was one to talk. She sighed again, heat rippling in her gut. The things this man was doing to her.

"Dinner it is." His smooth voice jarred her from her thoughts. "How fancy are we talking?"

"Suit and tie for you."

"Oh come now. I'm not Arthur."

"I don't want you to be. Believe it or not, there are places that actually require such a dress code. The restaurant I want to go to tonight just happens to be one of those places. I'll be equally as dressed up."

"I bet you're rather sexy in a suit and tie." She couldn't hold back her laugh, excitement growing

Sure enough, he didn't disappoint. And she liked to think she didn't either. She'd selected her favorite little black dress—straight, strapless, formfitting, a sash belt running just under the bust line to tie in the back in a loose knot. Her hair flowed in free curls, and she topped the look off with a killer pair of stilettos. Arthur never failed to appreciate her sexy beauty when dressed as such, and she hoped Eames couldn't either.

Judging by the looks he sent her throughout the candlelight meal and copious amounts of wine, she was sure to get kind of reward from him. More than once she'd caught his eyes drifting down her body, furthering her anticipation. She knew all these mornings of self restraint had to have him equally as pent up. Yet in the depths of his appreciative, hungry gazes lingered a knowing spark that he had the upper hand. He knew she wanted him. And badly at that. And he, in turn, wanted to make her come undone beneath him, hear her beg—but then again maybe not, more fun to be had that way. The possibilities were endless, and she couldn't be more obvious if she tired. He challenged himself over the dark chocolate dessert to get her to admit everything she wanted—no matter the cost.

She hadn't been able to shake the looks he'd been giving her all night—she didn't think it would be so obvious. Granted, this was her idea and exactly what she wanted, but she didn't want to actually own up to it. But something in his dangerous gray eyes hinted he already knew. His hand rested now on the small of her back as they headed for the elevator of the apartment building, heat seeping through her dress. She pressed the button, turning to glance up at him, catching his concentrated appreciative gaze as it drifted up her body.

"You've been leering at me all night." She casually said.

"Well that's a bit harsh," he said, his voice low, "surely you know how delectably tempting you look." She fought to keep the instant smile from her face, turning to him instead with an innocent, wide-eyed look.

"Do I?" He leaned in closer, radiating intoxicating body heat, nose brushing hers.

"Play coy, we'll see how much of a glutton for punishment you are," his hot breath brushed past her lips, "but I know what you want, and will get you to admit it before the night's out." His lips fell slowly to hers, eagerly matched, tongues tasting of wine and chocolate. His hands shifted to her hips, moving his body to forcibly pin her against the elevator wall, a moan in her throat. Yes, god yes, this was what she wanted. Him, all of him, unabashed passion and want. His arousal started to press hard against her, hips slowly rocking as another moan left her, heat pooling between her legs. His lips slowly trailed from hers, settling on her collarbone as she clung to him, registering the steady glide of his hand down her leg, lifting it to wrap around his hip accented by a sharp thrust. The breath rushed out of her, eyes half lidded as his hand worked its way up the inside of her leg, fingertips brushing against her damp underwear.

The ding of the elevator sounded, breaking her haze, watching him calmly back out of their embrace, offering a casual hand as she struggled to find her breath.

"Apologies." He said with a quick nod and smile to the shell shocked elderly couple standing in the lobby as they exited. "Know them?"

"Yes, they're my neighbors on this floor. How embarrassing was that." Eames chuckled, loving the fierce color on her cheeks, the flush on her chest. She opened the door, tossing her purse casually on the kitchen counter, hearing him close the door. Suddenly he was on her, chest tight against her back, arms around her waist holding her close.

"Hope that hasn't killed your mood love." He whispered teasingly, guiding her towards the guest bedroom, standing in front of the bed.

"Who said I was in a mood?" A surge of heat shuddered through her at the low, sexy laugh in his throat.

"No one." His lips fell to the rim of her ear with nibbles, licks, tastes. She sighed at the touch, feeling her body melt into his. He withdrew his arms from around her waist, letting his hands slowly trace up her sides, down her arms. Her head rolled back onto his shoulder, memorizing the feel of his strong hands on her body. He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. Who was this woman trying to fool? He pulled back as he raised her arm, bending it gently back to kiss and tease her fingertips with sucking touches.

Every touch set fire to her skin, driving her dangerously close to just admitting what he wanted to hear and pushing him to the bed, ripping off clothes. The look on her face was damn near enough to make even him want to give up the games, but he was just getting started. In the blink of an eye he moved her arms with his, bringing them behind her back, holding them tight as he reached for his previously undone tie, tying a tight knot. She twisted against her new bond, effectively finding her arms tied behind her, the long end of the offending tie hanging down to the floor. She turned to meet his face, finding the most deliciously wicked smirk matched in his smoldering eyes.

"What good is this going to do you?" She asked, lips pink and lusciously swollen.

"Easier this way," he simply answered, "whatever I want to do to you, I will." Another bolt shot through her, hips involuntarily moving at the implication of his words. His deftly untied the sash belt of her dress, pulling it free and snapping the fabric between his hands, wicked smirk growing wider as he drank in her pleasurably dazed expression.

"Ea—mms!" His name dissolved in a muffled sound as he pressed the black fabric to her mouth forcing it gently until her mouth opened, wrapping the fabric around the back of her head, gagging her. He pulled his hands back to admire his handiwork, the fire in her eyes making him harden further as she twisted against the tie on her wrists, mumbling against her gag.

"Now I finally have you all to myself," his voice was thick with want, "I have wanted nothing more all night." He slowly circled to stand in front of her, eyeing her as a cat does a mouse to play with before the final kill. Impulsively she turned on her heel, facing away from the bed and him, a proud gleam in her eyes. He may have her bound and gagged, but she wouldn't make it easy for him. He grabbed her hips, pulling himself roughly against her, her bound hands and his arousal hard between them.

"Feisty, feisty." He scolded, letting his hips grind against her backside steadily, lips falling to her neck. He hadn't expected her to be such a vixen, and it only encouraged him further. She knew she had to be positively dripping with want for him as his body moved against her. A moan sounded past her gag at his teeth biting and sucking to send painfully pleasurable waves through her body, head rolling aside to better let him leave his mark. Gradually he shifted his body around hers, keeping a firm grip on her hips to hold her in her in place as he moved to stand in front of her, her back to the bed. His hand moved in a flash to the side zipper of her dress, swelling at the shiver than ran through her as the fabric pooled at her feet.

"Tell me what you want Ariadne." An ache cut through her dull throb as her name rolled off his delicious tongue. "But wait…." He near purred, fingertips skimming her bare stomach, head rising to let his lips ghost hers, tongue reaching out to brush against the gag between her teeth. "So let me guess…you want me to fuck you." Her eyes sank closed, fighting not to give some response. "Hard, fast, unrelenting." Her hips moved of their own accord, briefly brushing his. "Until you come, screaming my name." She hated the tiny whimper in her throat, eyes instantly flying open to meet his, wanting to wipe victorious smile from his face. He knew he had won. "I suppose in your current state, that's the best you can answer."

She narrowed her eyes, indistinguishable words of defiance passing her gag, knowing and secretly loving, that she was powerless to take the upper hand. He laughed softly in his throat, the determination in her eyes making him want nothing more than to see her come undone beneath him, submit to him, own up to what she wanted. He raised a single finger, bringing it to rest just above the top of her strapless bra in the valley on her breasts, leveraging his body weight to push her back a step. Her heel caught on her discarded dress, slightly stumbling, glancing back to check for the edge of the bed. He wouldn't get her so easily.

"Sit down." He near whispered, his breath on her lips. Stubbornly she planted her feet, quirking an eyebrow in determination, shuddering as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Have it your way." He let a hand fall to her hip, holding her tight as he slinked around her body to stand such that her left leg was anchored between his knees, keeping his torso from touching hers. He reached for the long, free end of the tie, swiftly threading it between her legs, running the silky fabric up and down against the smooth skin of her thigh. Her body stiffened at the sensation, eyes closing as she fought to stop the moans that threatened in her throat. Her hands clenched into fists as he trailed the fabric ever closer to her hot center, wanting nothing more than for him to just touch her. Her pleasured look was enough to make him wish she hadn't been so defiant. He ached to have her.

Her breath caught in her throat, hips bucking as the fabric brushed against her center before moving briefly back down her leg. She whimpered at the lack of contact, rewarded with the return of the tie and the torturously slow sliding of the fabric back-and-forth against her underwear. Her fingernails had long been digging into her palms, body near shaking with want, drowning in his heat as his lips fell to her bare shoulder with feather light kisses. A low growl left him as her smell enveloped his senses, slowly realizing just how much she had shifted her body weight to lean against him as he administered his torture.

Suddenly he dropped the tie, wrapping a strong arm around her to pull her off her feet altogether and into his arms, smoothly leaning her back to the bed, ignoring her startled yelp. He eased her further back on the bed, moving against the smooth fabric of the bedspread, incoherent sounds passing her gag. He would never have guessed she'd look so sexy with her face and chest flushed, black cloth extending on either side of her mouth, hair splayed across the bed, eyes glaring fierce daggers up at him.

"This is what happens when you don't do as you're told." He simply said with a teasing smile, still standing over her, lazily running a hand down her leg, pulling her heels to fall to the floor. A downright evil smirk flashed across his face as he ran a finger lightly against the bottom of an exposed foot, sending a pleasurable tickle up through her leg. She jolted at the touch, breathing heavy as she watched him cross the room, shedding his suit jacket, draping it against a chair, before starting on his shirt buttons. About damn time. She couldn't remember ever being consumed by this much primal want and watching him undress was not helping. Her eyes raked over his solid muscular form accented by black swirls of ink as his clothing disappeared, his need plainly visible through his boxers as he approached the bed, dropping to lay beside her. She fought back a sigh, eyes briefly falling closed, his body close enough to radiate heat without touching, eyes staring downright possessively at her.

He lowered his lips to capture her bottom lip, kissing, tasting, as a hand rose to trace the swell of her breasts above her bra, teasingly tracing the outline. She shuddered under his touch, trying to move her bottom lip against his to no avail, feeling his rush of breath on his silent laugh. Two could play at this game. She rolled onto her shoulder, body turning into his, throwing a leg over his. He moved with lightening speed to roll her back on her back, body solidly atop hers to hold her in place. Her eyes grew lidded at feeling him so hard and hot against her, not even realizing her hips were moving in small thrusts against him.

"And to think I was about to give you what you want." He murmured against her lips, savoring the tiny whimper in her throat, brushing her nose with his. He was going to have her screaming and begging—to the best of her current ability of course—in no time. He slinked down her body, trailing slow teasing licks, nips and kisses over her soft skin, her tiny sounds and heavy breaths only making him want to speed up. He slid a hand around to her back, undoing the bra clasp and swiftly pulling it aside, letting a finger fall to the pert flesh. She hadn't even registered his movements until he set a maddeningly slow pace, not varying speed, rhythm or intensity, reducing her further to a state of pure need. Her breath came in tiny whimpers for more, desperately attempting to move her shoulder to create more pressure. Slowly he brought two fingers together, pinching her tight, a sudden moan breaking past her gag as her body stiffened, heat seeping between her legs.

His other hand skimmed lower, lips still tasting her skin, toying with the edge of her underwear, slowly working them down and off her body. A groan rumbled in his chest as he felt the heat radiating from her, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in her slick heat. He left his hand to mercilessly tease her breast, sliding further down her body, tongue tracing the curve of her hipbone. She wanted him to taste her, the feel of his hot tongue against her slippery skin. Her breath caught tight in her throat, wanting to jump out of her skin as she got her wish. Her arms jerked against the tie, desperate to run her fingers through his hair, rake her nails across his shoulder as his tongue worked in languid circles to drive her close to the edge. Her hips were moving against him, suddenly stifled as he settled a hand firmly on her hips, a needy whimper escaping her mixed with a frustrating sigh. He smirked against her, ghosting his hand from her breast down her body, quickly shedding his boxers. Time to go in for the kill.

A longing sigh left her as his tongue departed, barely registering his hands falling to her legs, his hips settling between hers. She forced her eyes open, surprised to meet his as he hovered over her, supported by his hands, drawing a sudden sharp breath as he pushed in with his full length. God what she wouldn't give to throw her arms around him, drag him down to her. He stilled, adjusting to her tight feel, biting his lip to keep control. Slowly, steadily, he started moving, accenting each move with a final upwards thrust. She writhed against him, indistinguishable moans sounding from her gag, dying for him to speed up, send her over the edge. If she could talk, she would willingly beg him, scream for him, anything to get him to just _go._ His own eyes fell to half lids as he watched her come undone beneath him, bending his head to her breasts, letting his tongue and teeth settle. She fought to keep breathing, sure her heart would explode, not caring how bruised her wrists would be from the strain of trying to rip that damn tie. He felt her body tightening around his, slowing to a stop, raising his head to glance at her flushed face, heavy eyes. He dropped to his elbows, hands moving to her gag, loosening it, watching her draw a shaky breath.

"God Eames…."

"Shhh." He sealed his lips to hers, resuming his movements with full force. She gasped against him as he moved, lips hungrily moving, tongues feverishly meeting. He brushed against the spot with every thrust, her toes curling, head thrown back against the bed. He let his lips settle to her collarbone, teeth nipping as he pumped harder, driven by her body's response to his. He felt her teeter the edge before flying over, a scream on her lips, body tightening in waves around him before giving a final thrust to finally let himself go. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body as she lay beneath him, struggling to find her breath, desperate to throw her arms around him, actually touch him. His breath rushed past her neck in short pants, lips occasionally brushing her skin. He moved off her, shifting to lay beside her, rolling her onto a shoulder to undo the tie behind her back. She sighed in relief, moving to stretch a sore arm in its new freedom. She wiggled the other arm out from underneath her, fighting back at a groan at the stiffness in her muscles. Her wrists had to be so bruised.

His hands fell to her arm, pulling it with him as he rolled over onto his back, fingers moving to her wrist with massaging strokes. A relaxed sigh left her as his thumb and fingers continued massaging her sore wrist, lips even falling to brush against the nail scrapes on her palm.

"Other arm." He said softly as she drew back her left hand, shifting so he could reach her right. He lavished the same care on her right hand as they lay there in silence, neither one seemingly in a hurry to get up. With a final kiss, he dropped her hand to his chest, still enclosed in his as he turned to her with a sated smile. She laughed softly, leaning forward to meet him for a short kiss. He rose from the bed, grabbing his boxers from the end of the bed, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lighter from the dresser before moving for the balcony door. You had to know it was a nice flat when even the guest rooms had balconies.

She rolled lazily around on the bed with a smile, supposing she should get up. Once on her feet, she grabbed for his black dress shirt, leaving her soiled underwear on the floor knowing she'd have to get a clean pair before going back to bed. The smoke curled in wisps above his head in the night sky as he exhaled, watching her come to lean against the railing next to him, eyes falling to the swell of her breasts and smooth legs deliciously exposed by his shirt.

"You should wear my clothes more often," he let go a breath, "it's a sexy look for you." She scoffed with laughter.

"Seeing as how it took me near over weeks to get you out of them, it's not likely to happen again so soon."

"You weren't ready." His lips closed around the cigarette.

"And you think you know me so well," she nodded to the cigarette, "may I?" He held it out for her with a languid smile as she took it, drawing a deep breath. "You were right, you know, that was just what I wanted," she said with a smile, shaking her head knowingly, "you didn't make love to me or treat me like I would break—it was just fucking amazing."

"Well we aren't dating and I'm not in love with you, so there's no reason to make it anything more. That's the problem with the morning sex you've been after—it's too easy to forget that in one's comfortable sleepy haze. It had to build to a point where you wanted it outside of that setting just to satisfy a pure need rather than fulfill a longing."

"Tell this to all your conquests?" She quirked an eyebrow, staring back at him with a curious smile.

"God no," he took another drag, handing the cigarette back to her, "don't think that's what you are. You're…different."

"Yeah, I noticed you weren't exactly careful back there." She drew a smoke filled breath.

"Well I know I'm clean, and you haven't popped out Arthur's kids, so I knew you had to be on something. Sure enough, I felt it." She blushed at his mention of her birth control ring, handing him back the cigarette. Never had she been gladder to be on birth control than that first time in the warehouse with Arthur. "Do you regret it in hindsight? Not having kids with Arthur?"

"No," she didn't even need to think, "as much as I would have loved to know and see our children, is equally how much I am not ready to be a mother right now." He watched a wistful smile cross her face, noticing her twisting Arthur's wedding ring around her thumb.

"Share another one with me?" He asked, fishing a cigarette out of the box.

"I shouldn't."

"But you will." He cupped his hand around the end, lighting it against the light breeze.

"But I will." She watched him draw a breath, smoke curling above him as he handed it to her. "So does this mean no morning sex still?" She asked casually, bringing the cigarette to her lips. "Because I would love to wake up tomorrow morning and ride you so slow that you're the one begging and whimpering." He smiled down challengingly at her.

"Depends who wakes up first. And happy birthday, by the way."

Xxx

Thanks for reading! And ok, please don't hate me…can you blame the poor girl? Even I would be hard pressed, and after what has gone before, with nothing now to hold them back, it was only a matter of time really….stay tuned!


	16. Revive

Oooo the supportive hatred. I love it—you guys are awesome! Do we not create to reach and stir human emotion? And if the last chapter did indeed invoke such an emotional response, then this story has succeeded beyond what I could have hoped for. So my heartfelt thanks goes out to you all for believing in the journey (it's what life is all about after all). And if I've done my job right, a lot of you should like this chapter a lot more.

Please enjoy!

xxx

Chapter 16: Revive

She clicked the submit button on her last resume, feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks. Eames was leaving today, she already had one job interview lined up and had plans with old university friends that she was actually looking forward to. She sighed, surprisingly at peace, idly spinning in the office chair, facing up at the ceiling.

She had a girlfriend in college who swore nothing was more cathartic than a good fuck, and up until now, Ariadne had always disagreed. But since her mind blowing birthday night two days ago, she found herself rethinking the idea. They had used each other that night, pure and simple, as an outlet for the frustration, a release of the pain, a chance to feel alive. Even Eames' demeanor had considerably lightened in the days after. And despite her words that night, neither one of them made a move the following morning. She chalked the idea up to the after-glow and the nicotine rush. And Eames, oddly enough, had been a gentleman about the whole thing—never bringing it up or questioning it, or trying for anything more than their usual, occasional kisses and nightly spooning. He had said it best after all—they weren't in love or dating, and with curiosities satisfied and tensions eased, there was no need for it to be anything more.

Now things were just becoming comfortable. Too comfortable in Ariadne's opinion. It was mostly just little things—him knowing how she took her tea, her knowing which sections of the paper he wanted, which pocket he kept his cigarettes in, which side of the couch she always sat on—that were starting to make the emotion grow. There were times it almost felt like it was a genuine relationship and it set both of them somewhat on edge. Having just ended a serious relationship, Ariadne was looking for anything but, and doubted those words even existed in Eames' vocabulary. And so he announced he was leaving, returning back to his life of international thievery and depravity. Of course, she knew she would miss him while being apart, but not enough to ask him to stay or change his mind.

"Something on the ceiling?" She smiled at his voice, tilting her head down to meet the smile in his gray eyes as he leaned against the office doorframe.

"No, I did this as a kid when I didn't want to do my homework."

"I see. Did you get the last of your resumes sent in?" She fought not to roll her eyes.

"Yes dad."

"Oh don't say that," he lightly chided, "I am almost old enough to pass as your dad."

"Gross."

"I said almost." They shared a soft laugh and small smile.

"I suppose you need to leave soon?"

"Indeed, all packed and just need to say goodbye."

"Where are you headed?" She asked, rising from the desk to stand next to him.

"Cairo. Have some friends there considering a job offer."

"Oh, I've always wanted to go to Egypt. Arthur must have been so sick of hearing casually me say it," the longing on her voice was unmistakable, "I can't wait to get there someday." His eyes met her with something of a knowing, hesitant yet open invitation in their gray depths. "No Eames, I'm not going to Cairo with you. I'm sure we'd both do and say things we'd only regret, and then hate each other for it."

"Only too true, love," he agreed, "though if I ever were to consider actually settling down, you are the only woman I would consider." Her eyebrows quirked in amused curiosity.

"Is that supposed to be flattering?"

"God, you're right, that sounds terrifying." She laughed softly as he smiled and turned, following him to the foyer and his waiting suitcase. "And your plans?

"Move from this place sometime soon—it was more 'us' than 'me.' I have tickets next week to visit Arthur's parents, and tell them what happened. After that, road trip through Germany maybe before starting work."

"In the A5?"

"What else?"

"Drive the Autobahn?" She did her best to give an innocent smile. "Just be careful—Arthur would haunt you endlessly if you scratched that car."

"He would, wouldn't he."

"Just take care of yourself love."

"You too." She stepped forward, his arms drawing her close for a tight hug as she returned his hold. She pulled her head back from his shoulder, meeting his lips in a soft kiss.

"Call me from time to time, yeah? Let me know you're still alive." He said with a smile.

"And what about you?"

"Me? I'll never die." She laughed softly, tightening her embrace, returning her head to his shoulder.

"I knew this relationship was one-sided."

"You're the exception Ariadne." She drew back at his use of her name with a wide smile, welcoming his kiss one last time. He stepped back with a knowing smirk, brushing his fingers against hers as he turned for the front door. "So long."

"Bye."

He caught her smile and wave as he closed the door behind him with a light sigh. He would have stayed—gladly—if she wanted. But he didn't have to ask to know she didn't. He hadn't quite been able to shake the memories of her exposed beneath him, but she had it worked out of her system and seemed content to want nothing more. Maybe the years would change her mind or maybe she'd meet someone new. Arthur Two. The thought shouldn't have made him laugh, but it did. He knew despite his earlier, flippant remark he would have to keep in touch with her. She meant more to him than he was willing to admit and couldn't just quit her cold-turkey too after Arthur's loss.

The elevator door opened with a ding, jarring him from his thoughts, instantly freezing, shell shocked at the elevator occupant. He looked as Eames had never seen him before—dark jeans, simple white dress shirt, understated black blazer, hair untouched by gel and slightly falling across his forehead over the most familiar pair of sharp brown eyes. Eames forced a hard swallow, drawing in a deep breath, forgetting he needed to breathe.

"Can't say I'm surprised to see you here." The younger man said, stepping out of the elevator, voice soft, sad even.

"I…I was just leaving," Eames stumbled over the words, struggling to form a coherent thought, "I wish I could say the same for you, but, um, you're not supposed to be alive." It sounded ridiculous, but it was more than true, for here was a supposed dead man standing in front of him.

"Yeah…well, that's obviously not true." A slight smirk came to Arthur's normally reserved face as Eames' face lit up with an incredulous smile.

"You crafty fucker." Eames lunged forward, a hand wrapping to the back of Arthur's head to pull him close for a hard kiss, tasting lips he thought he never would again. Arthur raised a hand to a tight hold on Eames' shoulder, letting the forger hold just him there, lips separating as Eames rested his forehead against Arthur's, fingers lightly toying with his gel-free hair. "Don't you ever fucking do this again." A slight chuckle sounded in Arthur's throat.

"It's good to see you too Jon." Eames crashed against the other man's lips, driven impulsively by the sound of his name rolling off the point man's tongue. And what a tongue it was. He stepped back from the younger man, hand falling to his side, smile fading into a smirk.

"You do this again, and I will kill you myself," Eames started, his eyes fleeting to the door down the hall, "unless she gets to you first." The longing undertone of his words was not lost to Arthur who stood, watching Eames turn back to the elevator to push the button, unable to keep a small smile from his face.

"Thank you Eames," Arthur said as the other man turned back to face him, "we'll be in touch."

"Always. Now go, she's waiting and doesn't even know it." Arthur gave a farewell nod and moved down the hall, letting out a nervous sigh. Now for the moment of truth.

Ariadne's ears perked as she heard the door open from her sprawled position on the sofa.

"Forget someth…" The word died on her lips as she slowly stood, mind blanking at the sight of the man in the foyer. Her throat constricted as she drew a shaky breath, heart wrenching and suddenly racing, trying to process how he was standing in front of her when she had seen him fall…dead to the ground. The look of utter hurt and confusion on her face tore at his heart and all he wanted was to sweep her up in his arms in a crushing hold, prove to her he was alive, ease his guilt.

"Ariadne?" He softly said, hoping to draw her out of her mind so they might at least attempt to talk.

"How?" She choked out on a shaky breath, wide eyes never leaving him.

"A real bullet hit a bullet-proof vest with a blood pouch on top. Caps on my teeth released a drug to simulate death when broken." Her eyes fell closed, hating the single tear that was suddenly rolling down her cheek. Hadn't she done enough crying?

"But how…," she took a shaky step from the couch, hand bracing on the armrest, "I mean...the ambulance, the police…how did you fool them? We were together the whole time. How the…." Her voice cracked and she slumped to the floor, back against the couch, completely lost. He took more tentative steps into the room, slowly approaching the couch, dying to ease the pain in her eyes.

"May I…sit next to you?" He asked quietly, watching her look up at him, numbly nodding. He covered the remaining distance, easing down beside her, fighting to not reach out and hold her hand. His eyes settled on his wedding ring snugly around her thumb. "I have an old friend," he suddenly said, "who is president of a company that specializes in solving unique problems. Remember the man you met in the wheelchair at my parents' house, Eli Glinn?" Another silent nod. "After our meeting, he drew up plans and put men in place. He laid out everything." A sad sigh sounded on his words. "All I had to do was keep it from you."

"_It's the only way."_

"_It's the easiest to be sure." Glinn said, his sharp moving eye a stark contrast to the rest of him. "I'll take the shot myself if it will make you feel better."_

"_I knew it wasn't anything you couldn't handle." _

"_Faking your death shouldn't be any more than my standard contract fee."_

"_Money is no object."_

"_Never has been for you, has it Darren?" Arthur's glare met Glinn's._

"_How soon will plans be ready?" _

"_Next week, Tuesday." _

"_We'll be at the St. Regis." _

"_Ask for a package for Robert Duchamp. You'll find everything you need." The two men exchanged silent looks. "What makes you positive these agents will show?" _

"_They were brazen enough to take a shot at me through a hotel window. If they catch our signal, they'll descend."_

"_I wish I shared your confidence. I'll see what I can do to guarantee their arrival—drop a credit card bill, hotel charge."_

"_Don't make things worse Glinn." Arthur turned, voice pointed to meet the equally sharp look of the wheelchair bound man. _

"_Worse is simply a point of view," Glinn said, his tone smug, "you treat me like an amateur again, I go back to New York and you can deal with Cobol yourself." _

"_Still the same arrogant asshole." Arthur muttered._

"_And you're still the same pretentious prick." Glinn smiled a mirthless smile. "Now about this lovely wife of yours…," he watched Arthur's ears perk, "I know you already know, but let me reiterate, she cannot know about this. Everything hinges on her grief."_

"_Now who's treating who like the amateur?"_

"_The agents need to see the pain on her face, hear the scream as you hit the ground, subsequent tears, falling into the arms of your best friend, fucking him."_

"_Don't be cruel Glinn."_

"_It's a high toll to pay to fake your death. Marriages have crumbled under much less. They'll stop watching her within a month and you can go home—if she'll take you back—but for her it has to be real." He watched the other man silently listening, his face torn. "Darren," the other man looked up, "you know the cost of this lie. Is your life worth the risk of losing her?"_

"_I lose her either way. At least this way, I haven't yet lost her completely." _

Tears had long been silently streaming down her face as she listened. She couldn't believe it had all been for nothing. Who the hell did he think he was to play her like this?

"I knew it," she ground out, shaking her head slowly, "I fucking _knew_ it."

"_I can't help but feel like you planned something with him behind my back."_

"_That's not how partners work." _

"You lied to me in the worst way a person can," the memories stung and her eyes burned as she spoke, "and I believed you because I thought oh, he respects and trusts me! And you fucking lied to me!" Hurt rage clouded her vision, hands balling to fists and he didn't even flinch. She lunged at him, fist connecting with his jaw, hands setting to pound against his chest, stomach, arms. "How could you? You don't do that to someone you claim to love! I—!...Ow." Her tirade ended on a whimper as she fell back to the floor, cradling her right hand, face flushed and tear streaked.

He drew a deep breath, still feeling her hits against his body, rolling his jaw in its hinges. While she wasn't strong enough to have done any damage, she could still pack a punch.

"Feel better?" He asked tentatively, trying to discern the hurt, confused look on her face.

"I—." She started and stopped just as quickly, settling for a silent nod instead. She unclenched her right hand, hissing in pain, fisting her fingers tightly closed again. He knew her knuckles were probably bruised from the punch she landed to his jaw.

"There's witch hazel in the bathroom, if you'd like." He offered, his voice neutral as he watched her stare blankly ahead. Again she tried loosening her fist, instantly balling it back with a whimper of pain.

"Yes please." She whispered at length, still not looking at him. She heard him swiftly rise and move through the apartment, returning not a minute later. She sniffed in the silence as he uncapped the bottle, pouring a generous helping to soak a cotton ball.

"Your hand?" She had forgotten just how smooth and sure his voice was. Numbly she reached her right hand over, his heart paining at her red, swollen knuckles.

"Why'd you do it Arthur?" She asked as he dabbed the cotton ball on her skin, tenderly soaking each knuckle. "How could you use me so heartlessly? Do you have any idea how painful and _frustrating_ the last month has been? There were no answers, nothing to take solace in. You…you were just gone."

"I didn't want to lie to you. You ask questions by nature and I can't change that. Don't think I didn't hate every minute of it, but if I wasn't a convincing liar, I wouldn't be any good at my job—and this job was about saving lives—mine, yours." He reached for the bottle, soaking another cotton ball and pressing it gently to her most swollen middle finger knuckle. "I was on a clock with Cobol—there was no way to outrun them permanently, not when they had Eames, and they're too powerful to be bought off. Dying was the only viable way to end Cobol's search for me."

"And you couldn't tell me? Or leave me hints? We could have planned it together. If I had known, I wouldn't have…." She trailed off, hoping her cheeks weren't burning too red.

"Telling you would have given everything away. No one can fake genuine grief. The Cobol agents only stopped watching you yesterday."

"How can you possibly know that?"Her comment held more snark than she would have liked.

"Glinn had a man keeping an eye on both the agents and you. He sent back daily reports." She turned her head away from him, overcome by a wave of ashamed embarrassment.

"So…you know then?" She didn't need to specify what.

"I know." He said, voice neutral, undetectable.

"It was just the one time. It didn't mean anything…well…not entirely." She sighed nervously.

"I can't judge you, Ariadne. I won't," he softly said with a quick shake of his head even though she hadn't turned to face him, "to judge you denies everything from your knowledge that I was dead to my attraction to him."

Oh, that's right—Eames was supposed to be in love with Arthur (still?) and Arthur returned that attraction to some level. Before, she'd been on the outside looking in, but now she was firmly in the middle of this twisted love-sex triangle. Why couldn't life just be easy? Her eyes sunk closed, Arthur's words playing in her mind.

"_I simply acknowledge you gave up what would be an easier life when you chose to marry an international thief currently on the run for his life."_

She opened her eyes with a sigh, shaking her head, sniffling.

"How's your hand?" He asked softly, making her just really register how gentle he was treating her hand, loosely holding it, his familiar calluses against her soft skin.

"Still hurts," she admitted, "how's your…," she turned to actually face him for the first time, watching him freeze, heavy eyes locking to hers, "…face?" She finished lamely, watching the corners of his lips lift ever so slightly.

"I'll live."

"That is not funny," she instantly bit back, turning from him, afraid of drowning in his eyes, "you didn't even flinch when I hit you."

"No, I deserve worse than that, and flinching would make me a coward. I'm not afraid to face the truth of what I did." Damn, the man had smooth answers for everything right now. Of course he did, he'd had a month to figure out exactly what to say. She had maybe had 10 minutes? 30? An hour? She couldn't even say how long she'd been sitting on the floor with him, lost in her own mind, trying to understand. Suddenly she felt him move her hand to rest against her leg, his hands instantly departing. Her brow furrowed in sad, surprised confusion, instinctively turning to him.

"Your swelling has already gone down, but you will probably have bruises." She nodded numbly.

"A small price to pay."

"If I made you feel better."

"It did." God, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her. She was just, if not more, beautiful that he remembered. He was afraid he wouldn't even be this close to her ever again. It had taken all his restraint as he held and cared for her hand to not just pull the rest of her to him, kiss her, close the month's gap between them. A month that would forever redefine their relationship.

"I don't want to lose you Ariadne," he started softly, voice rushed, "that's why I did it. In death, I'd lose you forever. This way at least let me come back to you, and have it be your decision. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust." He watched her bite her lip, drawing a deep breath. "Officially, who I am in that world is dead—everything—all the shit in my past is gone. It's a whole new start. Never have I been more selfishly possessed by a desire to just be with someone," he shook his head, grimacing, struggling to understand something he would never, "for what's it worth, I know time without you is wasted and you're the answer to my future." His eyes settled on his wedding ring around her left thumb. "Hopefully someday you'll let me wear that again and be your husband once more." She rolled the metal band around her thumb immediately out of habit. "But we don't have to talk anymore now. I can leave and stay somewhere else if you prefer." His heart started to sink as silence settled and she blinked blankly. He made motions rise, deciding it was for the best.

"I don't want you to go," she said at length, making him pause, flooding with relief, "but," she paused, shaking her head with a sigh, "but I need time to think."

"Take all the time you want. I won't go anywhere, though, if I may, I'd like to shower and clean up?" This was too bizarre—technically it was his apartment, he shouldn't be asking her permission. Silently she nodded, turning last minute to catch the small appreciative smile on his face as he stood. She watched him move for the bedroom door, still not really able to believe he was here, still breathing. Her eyes darted to the office, settling on his bag she had brought back from New York. Absently she considered calling to him that it was in there in case he needed anything.

Now what? She sighed heavily, not sure what to do. She wanted—longed—to believe him, wanted to fully love him again. But the pain of the past month still weighed heavily. Time…like she had told him, she just needed time. Shakily she rose from the floor, sniffling, glancing to the nearest clock. 2:57 pm. Mid afternoon and she was already exhausted and emotionally drained.

She moved back to the couch, eyes settling to the TV as she fell back against the soft cushions. She'd discovered a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon on TV after Eames' departure. No need to let the return of her "dead" husband change her plans to watch it. Besides, she needed the time to process everything, and the movies served as a good excuse to sit quietly. She didn't expect Arthur to join her on his return which would make it easier.

Did he really understand just what she had gone through? He knew she wouldn't just immediately take him back, so that spoke to some thought, but could he ever make up for this? How could she ever do another job with him and not wonder—or was his fresh start talk his way of saying he retired? She let her thoughts consume her, trying to sort out where her heart lay, blankly watching the movie in front of her. Fortunately, she'd seen the films enough times to know the story without needing to pay attention.

Her eyes drifted to the bedroom door as movement caught her eye. He emerged a minute later looking more like himself—hair neatly in place, clothes a nicer quality—though a much more casual version—black pajama pants, slim fitting gray cotton t-shirt, glasses. Suddenly she wondered how he'd gotten by without his glasses for the last month. Weren't they supposed to be in his untouched bag or did he have them on him when he got shot? She sighed in frustration, knowing him, that she was sure to not find his glasses in his bag because he had planned ahead. Damn him, _damn him._ She suddenly felt like punching him again, though the throbbing pain in her right hand convinced her otherwise.

He crossed the room, eyes glancing to the TV, catching a commercial as he tentatively dropped to the other end of the sofa. As long as she would let him sit here, he wasn't going anywhere. He smirked as the movie resumed, plunging him into the woods near Lothlorien. Hadn't Ariadne had enough adventure in the last few months? He wondered whether to ask it aloud, deciding to keep his mouth shut.

The ball was in her court to reach out to him and even though she had allowed him to stay, he didn't want to risk anything to make her reverse her decision. He relaxed more against the couch, remembering just how comfortable it was, stretching out his legs, draping an arm over the back cushion. Since dating and marrying Ariadne, he'd developed a tolerance and patience for being a couch potato, but it was by no means his preference. If it meant being with her now, however, he wouldn't move for days.

A surprisingly companionable silence fell in the room as each Darren gazed at the TV, lost in their own thoughts, waiting, wondering. The story moved through the Great River and Amon Hen—Boromir's death drawing a deep, shaky sigh from Ariadne, the pain on her face all too indicative of recent loss. Arthur had been unable to stop himself from looking over at her. It was killing him to not touch her—her hand had been enough of a teaser—and he wanted her back, all of her.

"I was thinking of moving." She said suddenly, absently, not glancing away from the TV.

"Too many memories?"

"Yes."

The second movie soon started, running through the plains of Rohan and onto Edoras. Gradually, slowly she started flexing her right hand, running it through its range of motion, the occasional hiss passing through her teeth. The witch hazel had helped, but he was right, she could already see the start of black and blue bruises.

"I have a ticket to fly to Maine next week, to tell your parents. Your mother deserved to know."

"What about your parents?"

"I didn't want to inevitable pity and coddling. Eames, he—he understood that. He helped me focus on things about that you that took away the grief, but inadvertently, among other things, built frustration."

"To what end?"

"To the end that we…," she suddenly hated herself, "fell into bed together." She recalled Arthur's words from the night he talked about him and Eames.

"To that end, I can see why it didn't entirely mean anything. It was a rebound, an outlet."

"As sad as that is to admit…and to you above all." Her last words were strained, wanting nothing more to crawl in some hole and die. Yes, they had used each other. Yes, it was a rebound. But he did mean more than that. He was there for her—held her while she cried, made an effort to make her feel better, helped her see that life could normally go on. It was only at his encouraging that she worked up the nerve to submit her resumes to firms. Despite whatever trickery or so-called ulterior motives, she couldn't bring herself to hate the forger. When she actually took a minute to focus on the screen, the battle for Helm's Deep was solidly underway.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, stomach rumbling softly.

"A bit," she admitted, suddenly realizing just how starving she was, having forgone lunch with eating a late breakfast. "You?"

"Very much. I'll order out. Any preference?"

"No, thanks." She answered without turning to him, not trusting herself. He rose without another word, heading to the kitchen. A sigh left her as her head dropped. She didn't want to do this anymore. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, wanted to see those smiles he reserved only for her, see the severe lines of his face relax as they had that day on the sailboat. Could life be that intimate after this? Did Arthur deserve a second chance? She snuggled deeper against the couch, leaning her head back, heavy with too much thought.

It didn't seem like Arthur had been gone near long enough when he returned with two Chinese takeout containers. She couldn't help her small, closed-mouth smile as she opened her favorite dish—chicken lo mein—casting Arthur a quick appreciative glance. Arthur nearly dropped his own food at seeing her smile, finding it pure tonic for his longing heart. Maybe, just maybe, she would take him back sooner than he expected.

"I was so angry with you that day," her voice was quiet through bites of food over the soundtrack of Gandalf and Pipin's ride to Minas Tirith, "you just left me there without a word."

"I believe I said 'stay here.'" She shot him a sharp look over takeout.

"Exactly, no reason, just an order." She shook her head. "There were so many things I wanted to say to you, and then suddenly, none of it mattered anymore."

"Amazing how life happens to put things in perspective." She nodded bringing a bite of lo mein to her lips.

"You're not off the hook," his heart leapt with a glimmer of hope, "yet in hindsight, I feel like a fool," she paused to catch the stray end of a long noodle, "it's all so obvious…I was your mark and you played me perfectly." Another mouthful. "I wonder if all your marks have the same feeling of knowing they were used after a job."

"They have the advantage of being asleep—details of dreams fade after waking with time, so they won't have the memory, but maybe the ghost of a feeling. Nothing compared to you, I'm sure."

"Don't you dare patronize me." God, all the thought and care was exhausting, and it was making her snippy. Yes, he had done something wrong, but she wasn't five years old. If she cared a lot less, it wouldn't be so difficult. But love makes you care. That thought cut through the swirling sea in her mind—she realized in her heart she still loved him through it all. She was Arthur's and always would be. She sighed, finishing up her food, mind struggling to keep up with her thawing heart. She knew it now—a life with him was worth everything. The hurt and the pain would fade, but as long as he remained—that was what she deeply wanted.

The takeout containers sat empty on the coffee table before them, the final grand battle for Middle Earth playing out before them. She glanced in Arthur's direction, unable to keep the smile from her face as she took in the familiar set of his jaw, the slight curl to his hair that he worked to stifle, his smooth, stubble-free skin.

"No cocktail?" She suddenly asked softly. Arthur was usually always up for an after dinner drink, especially for their nights on the couch.

"No, it wouldn't be appropriate." He said softly, turning from the TV almost sheepishly, surprised to meet another one of her small smiles. What he wouldn't give to see her carefree smile as it had been on the sailboat.

"But you want one?"

"Yes. And not that it's any bit important, but it's been a punishment in of itself to be deprived of good quality liquor for so long." A small snort of a laugh left her.

"What? Glinn wouldn't splurge on you?"

"His tastes were somewhat below my usual." Again she couldn't help the amused laugh. It was almost cute how seriously Arthur took his liquor, though it only resurfaced her fear that one day it might consume him.

"So what cheap swill did he make you drink?"

"It was a new personal low. I'd rather not say." A laugh bubbled out of her again, left hand rising to cover her smile and muffle her sound. God, her laugh was music to his hears. He missed her—longing to hear her laugh, see her smile, the love in her eyes only for him just as it was. Her hand fell back to her lap, face neutral, the hint of her earlier smile gone. Suddenly she rose, moving for the bar and pulling a high ball from the shelf. She reached for the Knob Creek, pouring a whiskey neat. He kept his eyes trained to the TV, torn whether to stop her or let her actually bring the glass over. She reached the couch before he could decide.

"Here." She set the glass on the coffee table. "You took care of my hand after I hit you. It only seems fair."

"Only if you're sure." He looked up at her as she dropped to the couch.

"Please." He reached for the glass in a swift motion, eyes sinking closed as he inhaled the rich, dark aroma. The glass reached his lips, the liquid warming his mouth, commanding its attention before swallowing and relishing the after burn. The finer pleasures in life were meant to be savored. If he could still count Ariadne atop those, life would be perfect.

She didn't realize she was smiling again as she watched him. He truly knew a thing or two about attention to detail. Her smile widened as memories from when she was on the receiving end of his attention filled her mind. His eyes opened, landing on her full smile, instantly drinking it in. That was all he wanted.

"God, it's good to see you smile." The words left him before he could stop them, watching her cheeks flush and smile fall to bite her lips almost nervously.

"I'm…glad you're enjoying your drink." Of all the things to say, and she said that. She couldn't believe herself. But she really didn't know what to say. For lack of a better option, she turned back to the TV, finding herself on the shore of the Grey Havens.

Who was she trying to fool? Her smiles were saying more than she could bring herself to put into words. Even if she couldn't yet admit it, she knew her heart wanted everything he had said—a new start, a new life with him, to trust him again. And so much more. The rolling credits on the screen brought her back to the present, each one sitting, somewhat unsure of the next move.

"Well I think I'm going to go to bed," she said suddenly, glancing over at him, "you're welcome to our bed."

"Where will you sleep?"

"Not sure." Her eyes locked to his, suddenly, desperately wanting to sleep with him—peel his clothes away, rediscover his body, breathe and move with him. He nodded, a hint of his displeasure yet acceptance of her answer as he rose, gathering their dinner remains and heading for the kitchen. It was almost too much—her heart and her body were outpacing her mind in all this. Maybe that was how it should be. Her attraction and love for Arthur was always far beyond rational thought. How else could she explain that she was married to a lethal, calculating international criminal who just escaped a death sentence?

She shook her head, trying to clear her head. Hopefully sleep would provide some clarity, she moved to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. Suddenly her eyes locked to the kitchen table and the exotic flowers there. Where the hell did those come from? Her brow knitted in confusion as she neared the table.

"Arthur, what are the flowers for?" She couldn't help the accusing hint in her voice.

"For you—to look at, destroy, throw away, burn. Whatever you like." Her eyes sunk closed, forcing a hard swallow.

"Why are they here?" She tried again, already having a hunch.

"I've already hurt you the worst way a person can," his voice was now behind her, soft, apologetic, "I didn't want to add insult to injury by not acknowledging your birthday two days ago." She bit her lip, eyes watering, suspicions confirmed. God, this man…. Sighing shakily, she raised a hand to ghost over the delicate, vibrant violet petals. She leaned down, inhaling the sweet of the nectar, tears threatening. "They're…beautiful," the word came out a whispered quiver, driving him mad with the urge to hold her, kiss her, "what are they?"

"Egyptian irises," a distant look came to his face as he rose a hand to copy her in ghosting over the flowers, hoping to catch a lingering glimpse of heat from her departed touch, "as self-serving and empty as this now sounds, before the whole mess started, I arranged a trip for us to Egypt this summer. You've always said how much you wanted to go whenever it comes up in conversation. The flowers were going to hold an envelope with the plane tickets as a surprise." She swallowed hard, fighting back a sniffle. God, despite being a total liar, he could be romantic when he wanted.

"So if not here, where are the tickets?" She asked at length, struggling to keep her voice even and the tears in her eyes.

"I didn't want to assume we had a future together, if you don't want us to," he couldn't stand it anymore, raising a hand to brush his index finger knuckle against her arm in tender strokes. "I'm not going to try to buy or bribe you back, Ariadne. If you decide we have a salvageable future, it has to entirely be your choice." His voice held no pleading tone, but simple acceptance that he had ruined everything and only she could fix it. And she knew, either way, he would accept her choice, through he made his preference known.

A whimper almost left her as his hand fell away and he moved back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. And suddenly, all at once, she wanted to laugh, a smile coming to her face, her mind just catching up to what her heart already knew. This was so stupid. She hadn't been ready to let him go and she still wasn't. Even if she wanted to, just knowing he was alive, she wouldn't be able to walk away. She wanted that new start to a life with him, his name, his children. Yes, it hurt. Yes, he lied. But with the best of intentions, she wasn't really sure she could fault him. And if what he said was true, then this was a whole new start at a new life. They could go anywhere, do anything. She suddenly couldn't wait for Egypt.

She turned on her heel disappearing to the bedroom and bathroom, mind made up. The poor boy had suffered enough, and she had certainly suffered enough. She went about her routine—washing her face, brushing her face—with a much missed lightness about her movements.

Arthur, upon entering the bathroom, of course, noticed everything. Her hurried movements, her quickly darting eyes when he would try to meet them in the mirror. It was cute, sexy, and endearing, reminding him of when they first started dating. He only hoped she would choose the same bed as him, but if she did, he knew sleep would be damn near impossible.

She left the bathroom before him, quickly changing into her cami and shorts, throwing back the dreamy cream and black sheets on their bed. She had offered him this bed, and she hoped he wouldn't turn it down in a gentlemanly manner with her in it. He emerged from the bathroom, freezing in place as he saw her in bed, smooth skin exposed by her cami, hair splayed against her pillow. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, every inch of her.

He flipped off the light switch, plunging the room into temporary darkness till he reached the bedside table, switching on the bedside lamp. Gingerly he sat on the edge of the bed, fighting for self control. If anything was going to happen, she was going to make the first move. He would take only what she was willing to give. He slid his glasses off his nose, setting them on the bedside table as he heard the shifting sound of the sheets behind him. Arms encircled him, her breasts against his back as her nose brushed his neck, followed by the soft flutter of her lips.

"I want it all, Arthur," she whispered softly, "everything—the new start, a life with you, to grow our family. I've trusted you since that kiss during the Fischer job and even though your actions are questionable, your heart's in the right place. I know that, and I love you." She nuzzled his skin, feeling him draw a deep, relieved breath, tension in his shoulders draining. "And…I really want to go to Egypt."

He was so warm and solid against her, his scent enveloping her as she let her head fall to rest between his shoulder blades, the weight of all the emotion from the last month lifting free. He brought a hand up to hers, raising it to his lips, gently kissing each fingertip. His body instantly responded to her pleasured sigh as he continued lavishing gentle, lingering kisses to her hand.

"You are truly an angel to grant such absolution." His voice was soft against her skin. "Thank you Ariadne." His hold on her hand tightened to a tight hold as he shifted under her, craning his head to feel her breath across his cheek. She pushed her lips to his, flood gates opening. He was a man possessed—this woman was his everything, and kissing her now after it all only solidified it further. Long, slow, wet kisses consumed them, both content to rediscover the other's intimate touch.

Her hands shifted from their hand hold to pull him closer, falling back on the bed to pull him down with her. Willingly he fell with her, a groan in his throat to feel her so warm and soft against him after wondering if he ever would again. She loved everything about this man—his solid body, his tongue against hers, his hands gently on her skin. She broke her lips from his, crushing her arms and legs around in a solid hold, breathing deep, unable to believe he was really here—alive and well—in her arms. He returned her hold, each momentarily content to feel the other body.

"Here…," she wrenched her left arm free, bringing it to the space between their faces, freeing his wedding ring from her thumb, "this belongs to you." He brought his left hand into view, eyes locked as she slid the band on his ring finger. His lips instantly found hers, unable to believe his luck that this woman still wanted to be his. Her citrus body wash smell enveloped him, unable to stop his lips from moving to kiss the skin beneath her ear, loving her familiar breathy moan.

"Where's yours?" His words danced across her skin.

"Bedside table." She nuzzled her nose to his cheek as he leaned over, pulling the drawer open and fishing her ring from its box. The cool metal slid against her skin, eyes tearing as he kissed her cheek. She waved her fingers in the low light, catching the shine of her diamond, overwhelmed at the truth it brought. His lips returned to make her melt, lavishing and tracing her skin with gentle kisses and nibbles—each touch of his lips and tongue a promise, an apology. She turned her face to rest against his forehead and hair as he drifted down her body, hands settling to the hem of her cami to pull it up and off.

He forced himself to move slowly, drinking in every last inch of her smooth skin, remembering every curve, every dip. Her hands long settled in his hair, breaking it free of its usual hold, heart racing wildly as his lips settled over a nipple, lapping and suckling. Her hips jerked involuntarily upwards into his, his hand on her hip tightening to restrain himself from just ripping her shorts off and plunging into her. As much as he wanted to go slow and savor her, was just as much as he wanted her screaming his name in unbridled passion. That would come later.

She ached for him as she never had, untwining a hand from his hair to reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it up his body, desperate to touch him. Her fingers traced over the sharp lines of his muscles and scars, wanting him closer, so much closer. She bent to lean forward, lips longing to brush across his brow, feeling his hand on her hip inching down the inward curve of her hipbone towards her damp heat.

"Arthur…." His name passed her lips on a sigh as his fingers tucked under the waistband of her shorts and underwear, teasing them down and off her hips, lips still lavishly marking her skin. She reached down for his pants and boxers, rewarded when his hand pulled away to discard the offending clothing. Her hand instantly settled to his face, cupping his cheek to draw him back up to her lips, settling into a deep kiss as his lean body spread out atop hers, nothing but their wedding rings between them. God, this man was worth everything in the past months—his lips, his touch completed her as no man ever had.

Tears continued to gather in her lidded eyes, opening to meet his as his knuckles brushed gently against her cheek. He never wanted to forget the smile on her face as they lay skin to skin, leaning down to brush her nose with his, kissing it softly. She laughed softly, fighting to hold back tears, running a hand up and down the curve of his spine as he shifted atop her to line up with her body.

She gasped against him, lips brushing her skin as his nose nuzzled her cheek, pushing inside her. The breath left him as her slick heat enveloped him, tight and welcoming. A tear sprang unbidden from her eye, overwhelmed with feeling, rolling down her cheek to meet his lips. At the instant wet touch, he closed his lips around the fallen tear, tongue tip darting out to lick it away. A tear escaped her other eye as his hips moved against hers in a slow, languid thrust.

"God Arthur," she moaned, forcing her eyes open to meet his, "I never thought you would be here again." Again he let his hips move, sealing his lips to hers in response, the promise of a lifetime in his kiss. Achingly sweet, increasingly needy movements followed, each desperate for ultimate release only the other could give. Breathing grew ragged, hands idly scraped at skin, only wanting more. His name on her gasping moans and the delicious tightening of her body pushed him closer to the brink, shifting his angle to snake a hand in to brush against her clit. She gasped harder at the brush of his fingers, finding herself already wound so tight. It wasn't long before they both flew over the edge—a gasping scream on her lips matched by his guttural groan, each drowning in the other's body heat, riding the waves of release. He slumped down atop her, head to her chest, loving the sound of her pounding heart.

She clutched him close, as if afraid he would disappear if she let go. Lazily she ran her fingers through his hair, coming down from her euphoric high. He was alive, and he was here. Fresh tears again threatened in her eyes, and she sniffed quickly, blinking them away. He pulled his head up to meet her eyes, a knowing light in their sharp depths.

"I was so afraid I'd never get to have you again," he whispered quietly, pressing his lips to her jaw, "so afraid you could never forgive me. I couldn't bear to lose you Ariadne."

"Losing you was almost more than I could bear at first," she started, something of a sad smile coming to her face, "but you would adjust to it."

"I don't ever want to."

"I hope you never have to." He shifted off her after a final kiss, keeping her body tight against his as he turned on his side, reaching over for the bedside light before spooning against her smaller frame. She settled against him in the darkness, never wanting to get out of bed.

"And just for the record," she started softly, hearing his yawn as he nuzzled her neck, lips falling soft to her skin, "I am never letting you out of my fucking sight again."

"There should never be a need." His lips fell against her neck once more before they both drifted off, each content, fulfilled and secure in their future.

Tomorrow was a brand new day.

xxx

Thanks for reading! Now back to my burning Christmas cookies & finishing the last chapter…stay tuned!


	17. Reindeer

Thank you to everyone for hanging through all the twists & turns, and being patient while this story took hold of my brain. I'm glad so many of you liked and continually came back for more. So just in time for the holidays, here's the last chapter!

Please enjoy! (and Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!)

xxx

Chapter 17: Reindeer

_-10 years later-_

Bahamas, Maui, Florida, Morocco—the list was endless in Eames' mind. The world was full of hospitable locations in which to winter. So what the hell was Arthur doing in Maine? The snow had been falling since Eames landed in Boston and hadn't let up as he continued northward. Even London wasn't this bloody cold.

The houses—correction, mansions—he passed were tastefully decked in colored and white Christmas lights, doors adorned with welcoming wreaths. He just couldn't see Arthur in this kind of environment—on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights, mowing the lawn, part of neighborhood watch. Eames allowed himself a chuckle at the thought—hell, Arthur would probably give these suburbanites a heart attack if they ever witnessed him take on a criminal.

Eames eased the rent car up the circular driveway, not disappointed by the sight before him. The house was easily three stories tall, trimmed in white lights, the wide wood front door trimmed in red with a holly wreath. Warm, soft light emanated from the white shutter framed windows and as Eames killed the engine, sitting in the quietly falling snow, he couldn't help but already feel out of place. He wasn't even sure why he had listened to them and agreed to visit or what he hoped to accomplish. Arthur and Ariadne had their own lives, their own family—last time he had visited, their daughter Eva was three and Eames had never felt more like he was intruding. He debated just leaving—they would never know he had made it to the driveway before changing his plans. Though he knew he would never be able to live it down.

Soft light lit up the dark snow and the porch, catching Eames' attention. He bit his lip with a laugh, shaking his head, for in the light of the door stood the trim figure of his dear friend. He slid out of the car, knowing there was no way he could leave now. He fetched his suitcase from the backseat, shoes crunching in the freshly fallen snow on the shoveled driveway as he moved for the front porch. He finally let his eyes settle to Arthur. The years had left the man unchanged—still slender, hair slicked back, eyes sharp as always—dressed now in khaki slacks, red button down shirt, charcoal sweater and slim black tie. Eames couldn't help but smile—Arthur was a sight for sore eyes. A knowing smirk curved about Arthur's face.

"You weren't just going to leave without coming inside, now were you?" Eames wasn't surprised Arthur knew he considered it. "It's taken you long enough to get here as it is."

"Yes, well somebody didn't bother to mention if there was an international airport closer than Boston. It was a bloody five hour drive."

"Well someone didn't give much advance notice of their arrival time." Arthur's small smile grew as Eames passed him into the house.

"Together not even five minutes and already arguing," Eames said, setting his suitcase down on the wood floor, shedding his coat, "glad some things never change." He glanced around taking in the Christmas tree in the living room, warmth of the décor colors and dark wood trim, the faint aroma of cinnamon and hazelnut, currently overpowered by roasting poultry, smooth sax Christmas tunes soft in the air.

"Well you're looking well," Eames said, turning to Arthur, "the move, fatherhood, the years have been kind to you."

"Eames," Arthur said in disbelieving tone, eyes flashing a hint of annoyance, "you make me sound old. I'm not even forty yet."

"Next year, yeah?"

"Yes." He gave his head a quick nod.

"I found forty to be rather liberating personally."

"Of course you would." The years of suburban routine had dulled Arthur's usually sharp memory of the forger, his eyes unable to turn away. "The years have been good to you too, despite the life you lead." Arthur's smile returned at Eames' light laugh.

"Well there is something to be said for having fun and not living with a stick constantly up my ass."

"Thanks Eames."

"Only for you darling." Eames' gray eyes shone with the same mirth and mischief Arthur had always remembered, even if most of it was at his expense. Eames too had kept his body in check, looking damn near the same as he had on his visit three years ago, save for the slight graying at his temples. Arthur suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull Eames in close, feel him solid in his arms. It had simply been too long. He started to take a step forward, stopping uncertainly, unsure how the other man would take it. Of course Eames saw the reluctance and uncertainty in Arthur's eyes, making the point man near sigh in frustration as Eames' eyes lit playfully.

"Still uptight after these years," Eames moved forward, enveloping the younger man in a solid hug, the years apart melting away as Arthur's arms encircled him in return. "God Arthur, work, traveling—Caracas, Berlin, Kiev—remember New Years in Kiev?—just hasn't been the same."

But of course, Arthur remembered Kiev. He always would. After escaping prison badly scathed, he collapsed in the snow on the street corner of the team's warehouse, bleeding profusely, dehydrated and exhausted. Eames, who had stepped out for a smoke break, found him by complete chance, carried him to safety and cared for him through the holidays. Arthur, begrudgingly, couldn't deny how close they grew in those weeks, despite the man's ability to annoy him endlessly.

Arthur pulled back from Eames' embrace to meet the other man's eyes reflecting the soft light.

"Did I ever thank you…for Kiev?" Eames' smile instantly fell as he drew a sharp breath, plunged back in memory to that drunk, memorable night in Paris fourteen years ago that continually haunted him.

"_God, I haven't been this drunk since sometime in college." Arthur's words weren't quite slurring together, but close._

"_Ah, it's good for you," Eames called over his shoulder as he fell back on the couch, enjoying his alcoholic buzz, "you need to loosen up from time to time."_

"_No, no, this is not good for me," Arthur fished a bottle of water of the fridge, taking a big gulp, followed by a deep breath, raising a hand to his head, "god, I think I'm gonna be sick."_

"_Well I'd be happy to take care of you." Eames looked over his shoulder back to the younger man in the kitchen. His tie hung loose about neck, top shirt button undone. Eames couldn't keep his eyes off the small patch of exposed skin. _

"_Not again." Arthur shook his head slowly, remembering the days under Eames' care in Kiev, breathing deep and moving for the couch, deciding he was alright after all. _

"_But you're cute when you're helpless." An undignified snort of a laugh left Arthur as he moved for the couch. Eames couldn't help the smile on his face._

"_I'm sorry…," Arthur said at length as he rounded the couch, trying to compose his face, and failing, not noticing Eames' intent gaze, "did I ever thank you…for Kiev—" His words instantly stopped as his foot connected with something he didn't expect and his balance, aided by the alcohol, was completely lost. He fell sideways, crash landing against a warm body on the couch, his face pressed against the forger's chest. He remained still, adjusting to his new found location against the other man's solid, warm body, eyes slowly rising to meet Eames'. _

_Eames' body was fast betraying him, his heart instantly racing at the close contact of someone he'd so desperately been wanting, uncomfortable hardness starting to grow between his legs. And when those sharp brown eyes met his, he lost all self control as his hand rose to brush back the point man's hair that had fallen free. He leaned his face forward, lightly brushing his lips to the other man's skin, finding it as smooth as he'd always guessed. He brushed his nose to Arthur's skin, sharing a breath and finally kissing the lips that had tempted him for years with their sarcastic smirks and genuine half-smiles. His heart soared when the other man returned the kiss, parting his lips to let tongues meet. _

"Daddy! Unkie Eames!" Both men shook from their thoughts, dropping their hold on each other, stepping apart. Arthur fought to keep his cheeks from reddening as his six-year old daughter rounded the entryway corner, making a beeline for Eames.

"Eva, my little sweetheart!" Eames stooped to gather the squirming girl in his arms for a hug. "My how you've grown…let me guess, you're twenty now? Twenty five?"

"No silly! I'm six." She said proudly as Eames scoffed at his wrong guesses. He set her back down and she bolted for Arthur's leg, wrapping her arms around his knee, his hand falling to rest on her head.

"Yes, she's growing up fast. Started kindergarten this past fall." Eames looked down at her with an impressed smile.

"Kindergarten was always my favorite." Eames said with a wink, making Eva giggle as Arthur shot him a sideways roll of his eyes. A boy of thirteen with sandy blonde hair and piercing sea green eyes rounded the entryway corner, making Eames freeze and near do a double-take.

"Oh my god," Eames said softly as the boy neared, now followed by a fifteen year old girl, holding hands with a toddler, "that's not…."

"Mmmhmm." Arthur said softly.

"James Cobb." Eames said with a smile as the boy came to a stop, nodding his head.

"Yes sir, Mr. Eames," James said with a smile, "nice to meet you."

"Oh no no," Eames scoffed in disgust, "its Eames, or Uncle Eames," he deferred to Arthur's glare, "but if that 'Mr. Eames' is your Uncle Arthur here talking, then don't listen to him. He's a right stick in the mud." James and the girl, who could only be Phillipa given Mal's warm eyes shining out from under sandy blonde hair to match her brother, laughed softly.

"Well Aunt Ari warned us against you, and we're not supposed to listen to your either." Phillipa added, a touch of teenage snark to her lightheartedness.

"Warned against?" Eames turned from the kids, catching Ariadne make her way over to them. She was simply resplendent in a red sweater set, her hair flowing in free curls, eyes warm and loving. "Well thank you Aunt Ari." Eames said with a smile, meeting Ariadne's eyes.

"Good to see you too Eames." Her smile widened as she moved forward to pull Eames in for a tight hug, leaning back to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

"And who's the little guy?" Eames asked as he released Ariadne.

"This here is Jonathon," Ariadne dropped to a knee beside the toddler who couldn't be more than three years old, still clinging to Phillipa's hand as Ariadne placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jonathon, can you say hi to Unkie Eames?" The little boy shook his head with a small smile, moving to hide behind Phillipa's leg as they all lightly laughed. "He's a little shy around new people." Arthur turned his eyes to Eames' face, taken aback at the surprised, even reverent look on the forger's face. Arthur wouldn't have missed Eames' reaction for the world.

"Well it is very nice to meet you Jonathon," Eames said, his voice a little more serious, "that's a right, smart name you've got there." Ariadne rose, taking Jonathon's hand in hers, looking amongst her four kids with a big smile.

"Alright, let's finish setting the table and getting dinner ready. If you'll show Eames to his room so he can drop his stuff, Arthur, then we'll eat?"

"But of course." He flashed a small smile to his wife.

"Mommy, can I go with Daddy and Unkie Eames?" Eva asked as she clung to Arthur's leg.

"Eva, you know better." Arthur lightly scolded, as the little girl looked up to him.

"Come on sweetie," Ariadne said, reaching for the little girl's hand as they turned to head back to the kitchen, "Daddy and Eames will join us soon." Eva let go Arthur's leg, taking her mother's hand and moving for the kitchen. Eames couldn't quite bring himself to look at Arthur yet.

"Ariadne looks positively radiant," Eames said softly, amazed at how good she looked, her glowing smile, "she's not expecting again is she?"

"No," Arthur said with a smile, looking after his wife and kids, "we're done." Eames nodded, turning to retrieve his suitcase and coat.

"Lead on, oh fearless one." Whatever spell existed was broken as Arthur turned to cast Eames a confused, near disgusted glare before moving for the stairs. "I can't believe how much James looks like Dom," Eames started softly as he followed Arthur up, "how long have they been with you?"

"Miles took ill and passed away about two years ago. We took custody around then. They've adjusted really well."

"Glad to hear. And now most importantly," Eames continued, "why are you in Maine of all places?"

"I grew up here. My parents lived in this house up till seven years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear," Eames started hesitantly, not sure what to really say, "have they both passed?"

"My father has, but not before losing his mind to insanity—night terrors can do that you know," Arthur's voice had dropped to a dangerous octave that Eames had seldom heard over the years and it never failed to send a shiver down his spine, reminding him just how lethal Arthur could be when he set his mind to it. "And my mother's severe dementia has her resting comfortably in upstate New York at the Mount Mercy Hospital for the Criminally Insane." Eames' eyes widened, not able to believe he had heard the man right.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Eames said again, "sounds like that is quite a story."

"It is," Arthur threw over his shoulder as he reached the guest bedroom door, turning with a small smile, "but enough of unpleasant things." He let Eames through, watching Eames quickly scan the room, more out of habit than actually sizing up his surroundings.

"Well I'm still somewhat shocked to see you all settled into the suburbs," Eames loved Arthur's near annoyed smirk, "never thought I would see the day our illustrious point man settled for such a life."

"It's been an adjustment," Arthur admitted, leaning against the door frame, watching the forger set his suitcase down, "one I don't regret. And Ariadne's determined to get you to join us."

"She what?" Eames turned with a curious look.

"She wants you to move in—permanently—with us." Eames quirked an eyebrow.

"Is this her motherly instinct talking? Surely, she knows I'm old enough to look out for myself."

"She just thinks the three of us will fit well together." Eames' look morphed to a sexy devilish smirk.

"And in a house full of children too, tsk-tsk," his smile fell away to something more serious, "and what about you?" He watched something of a reluctant smile curve about the younger man's face.

"I, too, hope you will stay, despite my reservations about you becoming a regular influence on my children."

"Well darling, you did name one after me, so he can't grow up to be completely like you," he walked closer to where Arthur was still leaning against the door frame, "how is his name spelled?"

"Jonathon with an 'O'."

"That's the only way to spell it." Eames sighed softly with a smile. "Does she know?"

"No, I know you keep your first name a tightly guarded secret."

"How'd you convince her to pick it?"

"Honestly, she liked it best of all the names we considered." Eames' eyes fell to Arthur's, unable to look away. He couldn't even find words, loving the man and the slightly uncomfortable, near happy lift to the corners of Arthur's lips. "Don't look at me like that."

"And why not Arthur?" His voice dropped to a low buttery tone, Arthur's name on his tongue meant only for his point man. Arthur stepped forward from the door frame, closing the distance between them until his lips effortlessly found Eames'. Eames drank in the soft kiss, begging for a second and third, lost to the taste of bourbon on the younger man's lips, the faint wafts of cologne invading his senses. Arthur stepped back, unable to hide a smile that unwittingly filled his face, showing off his dimples that aged him twenty years younger. Even Eames couldn't help his smile when those sharp brown eyes found his before the younger man turned and started down the hallway.

"I always knew you missed me." Eames called out as he followed, catching Arthur turn back with a slight smile, shaking his head, Eames moving to catch him and follow him back downstairs.

Maybe, just maybe, Eames knew why he had come. And more importantly, why it felt like home.

_- the end (officially) –_

xxx

If you prefer to make up your own mind about Eames' decision to move in with Darrens, then this, my dear friend, is the end. And please, if you feel like sharing, I would love to hear your ideas!

However, I just couldn't stop myself and if you can't get enough and want to know how me & my husband saw events playing out, then please find my gift below.

Thanks to everyone for reading & I genuinely hope you enjoyed the ride! I'm toying with the idea of an Arthur & Eames in Kiev prequel. Would that interest anyone? No set timeline, but if there's enough interest, keep a weather eye out!

Thanks again & please enjoy!

-MidnightBlast

xxx

Eva had called Eames' red, fuzzy earmuffs cute, immediately telling her mother she wanted a pair. Ariadne had laughed and agreed that Eames did indeed look cute.

"Eames, how did you come by those earmuffs? They look like something for a teenage girl."

"Job in Reykjavik—so cold, my nose had icicles hanging from it—I was willing to wear anything to stay warm. And now they just lend themselves to familiarity." She laughed again as they packed more snow together for the snowman base.

"Well you pull them off nicely."

"I should get Arthur a pair."

"Oh I'm sure that will win you the way to his heart."

"Well what am I waiting for?"

"Most likely, it would just earn you a right hook."

"You know you're husband too well." Their eyes met for a brief second, turning away the giggles in the background. The four kids had scampered off towards the oceanfront to throw snowballs into the water, but it sounded like they were returning.

"Move in with us Eames. Arthur and I both want you to." Ariadne said softly with a smile.

"He told me you were going to ask."

"Hm, he needs to stop ruing my surprises."

"Is there a story on that?" He shot her an amused, curious look.

"Not really. So will you consider it?" A light sigh left him as he shook his head lightly.

"I don't honestly know what to think about it Ariadne. My first thought is to ask why you would want that. You have a lovely family…the only family I've ever been a part of didn't turn out so well. You can't really want me a part of your family."

"You've always been a part of this family whether you know it or not, Eames," she met his eyes over the growing snowman between them, "we're not just going to sit around and wait for the day you never return a message or call. We thought we'd reached that day two years ago and it really upset us both."

"I remember."

"Fourteen months without a word. We were days from sending Arthur after you." Eames all too vividly remembered the choking relief on the ex-point man's voice the first time they had spoken after that ordeal. Even Eames never hoped to repeat such an experience.

"You know firsthand, worse of all, the repercussions of our jobs."

"Your job, Eames. Arthur's been out, done, for the last ten years. If you're between jobs with no one after you, then why not take the chance to leave it behind? Escape while you have a chance. If you hadn't been so lucky two years ago, we wouldn't be here now." She watched his face fall, eyes to the ground as if seemingly considering her words. "You're both only getting older, eventually you'll both start slowing down. And if you break his heart by getting into trouble again that he feels compelled to rescue you from, and he gets hurt—I will fucking kill you myself." She grit out her last words, taking a deep breath to calm down, casting a glance towards the ocean, grateful the kids were still away. "Then at least you couldn't hurt either of us again." Her words finished on a thin, sad note, compelling him to reach out to her. She turned at the tug on her arm, falling against his broad, coat-clad chest as his arms encircled her in a close hold.

"It has never been my intention to hurt either one of you. I would never let anything happen to Arthur on my account—not when he has so much to lose, and means so much to me.

"Then get out, stop, retire." She tightened her hold. "Surely you've earned it. And if you love us as much as you claim, how could you walk away?" A silent, acknowledging laugh left him as his chin rested atop her knit hat.

"I don't deserve you—either of you—but if you're both inviting me in, I don't think I can walk away." She smiled against him, raising her head to meet his ever soft, mischievous eyes.

"You'll bring a nice dose of fun trouble-making to this house."

"I look forward to it." Eva's approaching giggle broke their shared gaze, parting their hold with a quick kiss. They returned their focus on the snowman before them, watching the children return—each of Phillipa's hands occupied by either Eva or Jonathon's hand as she helped them traverse the tricky snow, James lingering behind.

"James! Knock it off." Phillipa warned threateningly, brushing snow from her coat sleeve when they reached Ariadne and Eames.

"But it's too much fun." James stooped to gather a handful of snow for another snowball.

"No its not," Phillipa protested, "Uncle A hates snowballs, as do I, and you leave him alone."

"He's not my sister." James let another snowball fly at his sister, an exasperated gasp issuing from Phillipa.

"Hey guys, just chill," Ariadne said calmly, "James, lay off Phillipa a while."

"Besides, you don't know how to make a proper snowball." Eames added from the other side of the snowman. Jonathon looked like a big blue marshmallow as he padded about at their feet, now doing his best to help his mother build the snowman.

"And how's that Uncle E?" James called out near sarcastically, only to met by an exploding ball of snow on the front of his jacket. Phillipa and Eva, who stood at Eames' side, laughed at the near girly shriek from their brother. "Not fair!" He called back to Eames who smiled innocently. "I wasn't looking."

"That's the best time to strike." He let loose another ball of snow that perfectly dissolved in a cloud of powder on James' coat, flakes landing on his cheek and nose. James instantly stooped to construct a snowball, preparing to return fire.

"No, no," Ariadne quickly said, watching Eames gather more snow, "if you two are going to do that, get away from the snowman."

"I wanna play! I wanna play!" Eva whined, tugging on Eames' pant leg. Eames dropped to crouch down, handing her the snowball in his hand, instantly scooping another handful into his fleece gloves, whispering quiet instructions.

Arthur watched the snowball fight unfold with an amused smile. True to Phillipa's words, he hated playing the snow. Too wet and messy for his tastes. Normally, he contented himself to watch from inside the house, but watching Ariadne with Eames and the children, he felt compelled to at least put on a coat and watch the proceedings firsthand.

"Look at me Daddy!" Eva called out before lobbing a snowball that barely managed to hit James' leg before she ran away giggling. A small laugh left Arthur as he watched her retreat to the safety of Eames' legs when James chased slowly after her, a small snowball lightly hitting her back.

Cold wet snow suddenly exploded against Arthur's right shoulder, sending snow flying into his face and hair. He stiffened, eyes instantly narrowing to glare daggers at the proud culprit. Eva froze in place, eyes wide, her mouth a perfect 'o'.

"Ohhhhhh Unkie Eammmmmes," she scolded, glancing between her dad and uncle, "Daddy hates the snow. No one throws snowballs at him." Ariadne rolled her eyes, shaking her head, watching as Arthur crossed the steps down the porch, crunching through the ankle high snow towards them. Phillipa drew a deep amused laugh of a breath, hopping she'd be lucky enough to see an awesome smack down between her uncles. Eames was just smirking back at Arthur, silently daring the point man to retaliate. Arthur's sharp eyes darted from Eames to Eva, crouching down to whisper in her ear, hearing her little giggle as she nodded her assent to his words. Brushing a quick pat to her shoulder, he rose and crossed the few feet to stand in front of Eames, whose face still held the same shit-eating grin.

"Don't you think you're funny."

"Only when it's you love," Eames' voice was soft before speaking louder, "it should be a crime to hate playing in the snow—especially considering where you live. Eva has already scolded me."

"Not good enough." In the blink of an eye, Eames found himself on the ground, flat on his back, breath whooshing out of his chest, Arthur standing over and holding him down to the ground. Both James and Phillipa stood silently stunned, amazed at Arthur's skill and economy of motion to quickly and near effortlessly take down the larger, older man. A giggle sounded to Eames' right, scampering footsteps approaching in the snow, before a cold, wet ball smacked against his face. He let his head fall dramatically back, eyes falling closed.

"My sweet Eva turned against me." He bemoaned melodramatically. She giggled.

"Daddy told me to."

"But now you have to protect me." Eames opened his eyes, sending her a wink. Eames raised a foot, wrapping it to the back of Arthur's knee, making it buckle and drag the point man down into the snow. Some tousling later, Arthur found himself under loosely Eames' hold—knowing he could take him down even still—but stilling as Eva steadily approached with another snowball. Ariadne loved the smile on her daughter's face when she threw the snowball down at Arthur. It really was a shame he wasn't more playful. Hopefully if Eames stayed, he could draw it out of him.

"A direct hit, good shot Eva," Eames praised as she giggled and blushed, "and look, he hasn't melted and the world hasn't ended."

"Very funny." Arthur conceded, cracking an eye open, an embarrassed smile on his face. God, Eames loved the rosy blush on Arthur's cheek and nose from the cold, snow melting into his dark hair. If children weren't present, he would not hesitate to lean down to Arthur with a crushing kiss.

"So Uncle A, does this reverse the current 'No snowballs at Uncle A' rule?" James asked, a hopeful note on his voice.

"Of course it does," Ariadne answered, smiling down at Arthur as he glared up at her before sitting up, "it's good for you, dear. Being playful will keep you young."

"And Eames will simultaneously age me," Arthur reached for the aforementioned man's hand, pulling him to his feet, "perfect."

"You'll never get old that way darling." Eames said with a flirty smile as Arthur released an annoyed sigh, turning to brush the snow from his coat.

"Oh don't look so put out Arthur," Ariadne's arm slipped around his waist, "it's Christmas Eve after all."

"Santa comes tonight!" Eva suddenly yelled, jumping up and down at Phillipa's side. "Phil'pa, we have to leave cookies out for him!"

"And milk, don't forget." Phillipa added, matching the young girl's smile.

"So stupid, doesn't she know—."

"James, don't." Arthur interrupted with a head shake, his voice stern. "Give it a few more years."

"Alright, well I've had enough of the snow for now," Ariadne said, rubbing her gloved hands together, nose and cheeks red, "anyone who wants hot chocolate be inside in ten minutes." All four children's eyes lit up, heads turning to Ariadne as she headed off for the house. It seemed a near race, Jonathon falling behind as everyone moved for the house. Arthur and Eames shared an amused smile with a shake of their heads as they flanked the young boy in his poufy blue coat.

"Gotcha, kiddo." Arthur suddenly grabbed Jon from behind, sweeping him off his feet, giggle sounding in the winter air. "You want to be faster than everyone else?" Jon's eyes flitted to Eames, still a little unsure, nodding in response. "Well I happen to know Jonathon Eames here is very fast." Eames glared at Arthur for using his whole name, quickly morphing to a smile when Jon's eyes settled back to his.

"Your dad's right, Jon. Us Jon's are fast by nature, we'll be the first ones to the kitchen." The smile on Jon's face grew as Eames talked, seemingly more comfortable with the idea, nodding slowly.

"Alright, hold still Eames," Arthur let go as Jon wrapped his arms around Eames' neck, Eames tucking his short legs around his arms, "hold on tight, Jon." Again he laughed as Eames took off through the snow, the other children playing along, to let Eames and Jon "win" to the back door. Arthur followed last, surprised at Eames' comfort around the kids. He knew about Eames' sister with the two children, but had never been sure before how much time Eames had spent around them.

As he neared the house, crunching up the porch steps, he could only hope Eames had indeed come to stay.

xxx

The Christmas Eve service had been lovely, but nowhere near what he remembered from his last Christmas Eve service at Notre Dame in Paris. Everyone but him, Arthur and Jon participated in communion, sharing a quick look as the pew emptied. Eames wondered why the point man sat out, since Eames knew the man was living in his childhood home which made this the church he grew up in. Somehow Eames was sure if he ever were to ask, Arthur would never tell him.

And Eva, sweet Eva, had clung to Eames' side the entire evening. If anything, Ariadne seemed slightly relieved that she could focus on Jon, and Arthur slightly jealous that his little girl was clinging to another man. Eames found he didn't mind it so much. Eva was cute and not too bothersome for a little kid. His niece had been a complete pain at six years.

The little Darren girl had long dozed off in Eames' arms during Arthur's supposed annual reading of _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_. The Cobb kids had settled on either side of Ariadne—all comfy in their pajamas—on the sofa, and Arthur—dressed as Eames had never seen him in black pajama pants with a forest green zippered fleece, white undershirt peeking out underneath—had Jon squarely on his lap as his calm, precise, melodic voice filled the living room, accented by the crackling fire. And Eva had made herself right at home in Eames' embrace as he sat in the armchair opposite Arthur. It made the perfect family setting, and Eames was almost overwhelmed and beyond privileged that they wanted him to permanently share in this family. Eva's breathing had evened out as she snuggled against him, and he didn't see the warm, loving smile on Ariadne's face when she noticed her daughter curled in Eames' arms and the protective, caring gazes Eames sent her way.

"_Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good night."_

Despite Ariadne's insistence that he didn't have to, Eames gathered the sleeping girl in his arms, ascending the flights of stairs to her bedroom. Eva snuggled tighter in Eames' arms as he climbed the stairs, edging her bedroom door open, greeted by soft light from her nightlight. Freeing an arm, he pulled back her mint and lavender bedspread, laying her gently against the soft mattress.

"Unkie Eames?" Her voice was soft and sleepy as he met her eyes with a small smile.

"What sweetheart?"

"Are you really going to stay?" A small yawn finished her words.

"Do you want me to stay?" He drew up the bedspread around her small frame, tucking her in.

"Uh-hunh, you make daddy funny." A soft laugh left Eames as he smiled.

"Well I'm not planning to leave any time soon sweetheart. Go back to sleep, and no peeking tomorrow morning." Eva giggled sleepily, settling deeper against her pillow, falling silent. He lowered his hand to her head, brushing her hair back before slipping silently from her room.

As much as he had felt out of place on his arrival, was equally how much he felt at home now. He couldn't believe Ariadne and Arthur were willingly opening up their home to someone like him. Hell, Eva had practically clung to his side since his arrival. He was already starting to consider her his favorite of the Darren and Cobb children after just three days.

A disbelieving sigh left him as he descended the steps to the second level with his guest room and the master suite. His eyes landed on Ariadne, standing in the hallway outside the master suite as if waiting for someone. Eames' eyes instantly fell to the lines of her small body—her earlier lounge pants and sweater traded now for a black, silk robe that shimmered with moonlight from the nearby window, curls loosely pulled up with a clip, a tendril or two framing her face. Only in the weeks following Arthur's "death" could he remember ever seeing her so purposefully sexy in front of him.

"Ariadne?" He almost couldn't believe it as he neared her.

"Thanks for taking Eva to bed," she said, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear, "she's really quite taken with you."

"She asked me if I was really going to stay."

"She did?"

"Mmhmm," he nodded, "she wants me to stay."

"She's not the only one you know." Her big brown eyes locked to his, a hint of longing in their depths.

"And why again is that exactly? Some sort of pity? Charity?"

"Come on Eames, you know why. I love you, Arthur loves you—he won't come right out and say it, but he doesn't have to—the distant look in his eyes gives him away whenever we talk about you. We want you to be a part of the family—be a part of us."

"Suddenly now? After all these years?" A little nervous laugh left her.

"Well we have been trying to get you to come for three years now, but you always kept blowing us off."

"Well couldn't make it too easy on you two." Again she laughed, the sound awakening everything he felt for her all those years ago.

"Predictable Eames," again she laughed, stepping to her bedroom door, opening it, "but reassuring." She crooked a finger, beckoning him to follower her. He crossed the remaining distance, stopping at the threshold of the master bedroom, something of a curiously playful, yet somehow serious look.

"Doesn't this cross a line you weren't willing to cross last time you were married?"

"If memory serves, that was before my husband decided to fake his own death," she shook her head with a knowing smile, "you said it best yourself Eames—being married to Arthur is a caveat in of itself to break all the rules." She turned with something of a wicked smile, again beckoning him forward.

"Close the bedroom door?" He asked after her, entering the spacious and elegantly cozy room.

"No, just pull it to" she moved for the bathroom in the dimly lit room, "we'll make sure to close and lock the bathroom door though. The children mostly always remember to knock, but sometimes they forget."

"Sounds like there's a story there." Eames followed her to the bathroom bathed in candlelight, pausing and drawing a deep breath to see Arthur, dressed in a black silk robe equal to Ariadne's, drawing a hot bath in a large, oversized tub, a sea of foamy bubbles floating atop the water. He fought back a wave of lust at the sight, eyes glued to the point man's slender form as he bent over. Ariadne had settled to lean against the counter, picking up one of three champagne flutes.

"Eva barged in on us one time we forgot to lock the door." She started.

"You, love." Arthur tossed idly over his shoulder.

"We never agreed who it was, dear, but she was most insistent to know why Daddy was on top of Mommy like that, and if he was trying to drown me because I was screaming in pain." Eames' yummy, amused laughter reverberated off the tile.

"Oh the joys of children." His laughter died on his words.

"Are truly many." Arthur finished quietly, reaching to turn the taps off. Ariadne neared the lavish tub, setting her flute on the tile deck surrounding it. Eames couldn't really be sure this was actually happening—he certainly hadn't expected to be invited into Arthur and Ariadne's bedroom for a Christmas Eve rendezvous. She slid the robe from her shoulders, letting it cascade down her body to pool on the floor, Arthur and Eames' eyes fixed on the creamy globes of her ass as she settled beneath the bubbly water. Her content sigh sounded in the space as both men found themselves unable to look away.

"Are you boys just going to stand there and watch? Or would you care to join?" She reached for her champagne, indulging in a sweet drink as the sounds of rustling and discarding clothes reached her ears. Eames toed the water first, hissing when his cold toes contacted with the warm water, followed by the clink of two glasses against the tile deck before Arthur slid in. Arthur and Eames settled against the same side, Ariadne facing them with a sensually content smile. Sighs left them both in the quiet, steamy air, Ariadne adjusting her legs so that her right foot rested on Arthur's leg, her left propped with her knee out of the water.

"Cheers to a very merry adult Christmas." Ariadne said, tipping her glass to the two men.

"Cheers." Arthur and Eames clinked glasses, each sipping.

"Mm, this is the warmest I've been since before you shoved me in the snow, Eames," Arthur started, his voice accusatory, "thank you, by the way, for opening that can of worms with my kids."

"Why you're entirely welcome love," Eames sent him a smug smirk, "I look forward to finding other silly rules that we can break together."

"Remind me why I want you to stay with us, again." His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, turning to Ariadne for confirmation.

"Come now Arthur," Ariadne near scolded, giving him a slight kick under the water, "don't let him fool you Eames—he was beginning to think you would never come."

"Now that is touching," Eames again let his eyes settle to Arthur's face, loving the reflections of candlelight on his pale skin, "well like I told Ariadne here, I couldn't make it easy for you two. Half the fun is the anticipation."

"Please," Ariadne scoffed, "you had no idea we would invite you in so intimately."

"But I had hoped—after being with you both separately, it was marvelous to imagine how all three of us would be together. But I am a bit surprised at the timing, with a house full of children and all."

"Well they may wonder as they get older, but they'll never know for sure." Ariadne sunk deeper into the water, again sighing as the warm water covered more of her skin.

"We'll just have to keep this one quiet here then." Eames turned to Arthur with a playful smirk.

"You're the noisy one," Arthur grumbled, lightly smacking Eames' arm, soap suds flying, "but I'm sure Ariadne would love to gag you for a change." Eames' eyes widened in surprise before glancing across the tub to Ariadne.

"You told him all the details?" Something of an embarrassed, playful smile came to her face.

"Told him he should take a cue from your book because it was fucking sexy when you tied and gagged me." Warm waves of desire had long been tingling up and down her spine at being naked in the tub these two men, but they were now starting to settle south on her body at the memory of being at Eames' mercy the only time they fucked.

"Did you get the same reaction?" Eames turned back to Arthur, watching the younger man's eyes settle to his wife with a predatory gaze.

"Never heard her beg for anything so hard before." The low, near feral tone on Arthur's voice rocketed waves of lust through both Ariadne and Eames, breaths catching slightly. Arthur's body had long been reacting to the close proximity of the other two, wondering if the situation could get any more sexily intimate. Suddenly Eames' left hand fell to Arthur's thigh under the water, tracing light patterns and derailing his coherent thought. Ariadne watched her husband's eyes drift momentarily closed, his face relaxed, with a private smile. Despite his reluctance to admit it, she was glad he accepted his attraction to Eames, and now, embraced it. She could only hope in a few years he wouldn't reverse his thinking. The glossy look in his eyes, however, told her she was probably safe.

"Don't have too much fun over there boys." She called out softly, reaching for her champagne.

"Teasing is always fun." She outright giggled at Eames' innocent smile, watching Arthur fight to not roll his eyes.

"Three can play that game." Arthur simply said, letting his own hand fall to Eames' thigh, drifting dangerously close to where Eames' hardened want before backing away. Eames' breath hitched, sighing in frustration when Arthur's hand moved away.

"Fucking tease." He ground out, loving the younger man's soft, throaty laugh. Warm, soft toes suddenly pressed to Eames' hard length, gently stroking him up and down, pulling a groan out of the forger. He opened his eyes to see Ariadne's left leg now extended underwater, a wicked smirk on her face as she continued to run her toes up and down him, Arthur's hand drifting lazily across his thigh. God, these two were going to be the death of him. The water moved and sloshed, soft lips falling to the skin below Eames' ear as Arthur shifted closer. Eames immediately turned his head, capturing Arthur's lips as his hand teased Eames' skin and the soft caress of Ariadne's toes fell away. More water sloshed in the large tub as Ariadne slid over, straddling one of Eames' and Arthur's legs, wrapping a hand around each of their aching erections. Moans escaped them both, hips instinctively jerking to match her movements.

"God Ariadne…" Arthur moaned, leaning his forehead against Eames' as the forger bit his lip in a groan. Her own body was growing hot and needy as she watched the two men before her start to come undone, loving the power she currently held over them. She sped up her hands, twisting and tightening, ragged breathing filling the room as the two men clung to each other.

"If you don't stop..," Arthur choked out, "this'll be a very short bath…"

"Fuck….," Eames agreed, lost in the sensation of her warm, deft fingers.

"I'm not too concerned," she leaned in, placing a kiss to each of their cheeks, "I'm sure you boys will be _up_ for more later." Eames moaned in agreement as he suddenly brought a hand to hers, prying her hand off him, pushing his own need temporarily aside.

"Not yet, love." He growled, Arthur following suit to free himself from her hand, both men moving to push her back against the tub, twisting around on top of her. Lips and hands descended from all sides—Eames' lips hot against hers, Arthurs teasing the skin of her neck; Eames fingers skillfully tweaking a nipple, Arthur's fingers dipping between her legs. Incomprehensible sounds left her at the onslaught of sensation, clinging desperately to both men as they lavished such attention on her body. Her head rolled back as Arthur's fingers smoothly pushed inside, joined by Eames' fingers on the outside to tease in maddening circles. Occasionally their lips would fall from her skin to kiss the other partner as they worked her body higher, and she only hoped she could hold out for every inch both men had to offer.

xxx

She woke to a delicious soreness in her body as pale light filtered the curtains, finding herself in an equally delicious tangle with her two favorite men. Somehow she wound up in the middle, half underneath and on top of Eames, and spooned up tight against Arthur. She could stay in their warm embrace all day if today weren't Christmas. …Christmas! Her eyes flew open, leaning over Arthur's chest to glance at the bedside clock. 7:39 am. The kids were surely to be up and rummaging through stockings by now. She did her best to stretch in the close quarters, hearing Eames let out a small groan and Arthur draw a deep breath.

"Good morning boys, rise and shine." She cooed softly, sweetly, moving her hands to stroke both their sleep matted hair. Eames' lips nuzzled her neck as Arthur shifted to better hold her close. "No, no…Christmas morning, excited kids and stockings won't let us spend a leisurely morning in bed."

"Unfortunate." Arthur grumbled as she sat up, disentangling herself from the two men.

"Don't tell me I'm rubbing off on you already darling." Eames said softly, scooting over to occupy the space left behind by Ariadne as she rose from the bed with a stretch and a yawn. Arthur curled up against Eames, giving the older man a quick kiss.

"Ok you two, don't get too comfortable," she kneeled back on the bed, pulling a sweater on, "the kids won't wait forever," she stroked her husband's cheek, meeting him in a lingering kiss, "and Eames, you're on deck for French toast." She met the forger in a soft kiss as he mumbled his agreement. She moved off the bed unable to stop her smile as she glanced back at her two men in bed. She almost couldn't believe they really all had each other.

She drifted down the stairs, the sounds of excited little voices growing as she reached the living room, loving all the smiles.

"Good morning, Merry Christmas!" She called warmly with a smile, as four sets of bright eyes turned towards her, various choruses of "Good morning Mommy" and "Merry Christmas Aunt Ari" in the air.

"Mommy, mommy, look what Santa got me!" Eva jumped up and down, holding her new doll in a tight hug.

"I see your doll, how pretty!" Ariadne commented with a smile. "We'll go through the rest of stockings in a few minutes when Daddy and Unkie Eames come downstairs."

"Yeah, is Uncle A sick?" Phillipa asked lightly as she followed Ariadne into the kitchen.

"Of course not," Ariadne thought back to the two men upstairs, "why do you ask?"

"He's always the first one up to make coffee and tea."

"Well he's trying to drag your other uncle out of bed."

"Why should he care?"

"Well Christmas can't start until the whole family is together," Ariadne started the coffee, filling a mug with water for tea, "and Eames would sleep until noon if we let him." A distant smile drifted across her face as she thought back to the previous night. "And I have it on excellent authority that he makes amazing French toast." Phillipa turned with something of a knowing smile, mug in her hand for hot chocolate.

"The two of you do seem close."

"Your Uncle A was really sick for a month ten years ago," it was the easiest way to explain that whole ordeal, "and your Uncle Eames came and stayed with me during that hard time."

"Aw, that's sweet of him," Phillipa mused, a hesitant smile coming to her face, "and come to think of it, I haven't ever seen Uncle A so playful or smile so much…was there ever something between the two of them?" Ariadne fought back a look of shock at the teenager's perceptiveness. She shook her head with a smile.

"That's a question for one of them, I'm afraid."

"Oh my god Aunt Ari," Phillipa's face lit up with a knowing smile, "you totally know!"

"What I may or may not know doesn't concern you young lady," Ariadne lightly scolded, "just because my husband shares something with me, doesn't give you automatic right to know."

"Such a lame answer." The teenager shook her head with a disappointed smile. "I'm still curious though."

"Well ask either Arthur or Eames and see what they tell you." Ariadne turned to face the girl with a secretive smile as Phillipa moved over to use the microwave.

"Was my father ever involved?"

"Oh Phillipa!" Ariadne scoffed as the younger woman laughed.

"Involved in what?" Eames voice cut through the laughter as he breezed through the kitchen door in his pajama pants and sweater from the previous evening, hair smoothed into place though. It just wouldn't do if his hair stood out in every direction, looking obviously mussed by hands in the throes of passion. Ariadne couldn't help the instant smile on her face as she turned to see Arthur following.

"Oh Phillipa was just spouting some curious notions of hers."

"Aunt Ari!" Phillipa's face tinged in embarrassment as both men turned towards her with curious, amused smiles. "I was doing nothing of the sort." She fished her hot chocolate out of the microwave, turning from them.

"Well sounds like you two have been having fun then," Eames' hand fell to Ariadne's waist with a light touch, lips falling to her cheek, "Merry Christmas Ariadne."

"Merry Christmas Eames." He brushed on by, moving for the coffee pot.

"Morning love, Merry Christmas." Arthur's arms encircled her from behind in a tight hug that she melted into.

"Merry Christmas to you." He leaned his head forward to meet his wife's lips in a solid, quick kiss as the rest of the kids came barreling into the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast?" James asked impatiently, Eva echoing the sentiment.

"Your Aunt's insisted on an authentic Eames French Toast breakfast in exchange for a fabulous turkey dinner tonight." Eames fished in the cabinet for a big skillet, setting it to the stove top with a clang.

"Can I help, Unkie Eames?" Eva pulled on his pant leg, Eames turning to her with a smile.

"Of course you can sweetheart." His hand fell to the top of her head as they walked over to the fridge, him issuing quiet instructions to make the little girl laugh. James' attention was on Jonathon as he clutched his new stuffed dinosaur.

Arthur's arms were still tight around Ariadne as they watched their satellite family move about the kitchen with smiles and laughs, wondering if life could ever be more complete.

_-the end-_

xxx

If you've made it this far, I hope you enjoyed and again, have a Merry Christmas!


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